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Chapter Text

Mud squelched under Emmrich’s boots, turning every step backwards into a treacherous endeavour. It had been raining for hours, and the water was everywhere. It was running down his hair, soaked in his clothes, collecting in his boots. The moist air plastered his hair to his scalp and caught in his lungs.

He brought his staff up, feeling the familiar spark of magic.

They had been fighting for a while now, but finally the endless waves of enemies seemed to ebb.

The darkspawn in front of him ducked, ready to pounce. Red eyes gleaming in the misty downpour. It was a gamble, of sorts. A racing game. If the darkspawn managed to catch up, Emmrich would have to forsake his spell in favour of avoiding wicked teeth and deadly claws. If he was faster, his spell would end the creature.

Another step backwards. The darkspawn snarled, its lithe body curling inwards, ready to jump. He summoned more energy in his staff, bringing the weapon up and behind him.

One heartbeat. Green light illuminated him.

Two heartbeats. The darkspawn jumped.

Three heartbeats. Emmrich hurled his magic forward.

The spell caught the creature mid-air. The arc of its jump turned into a tumble.

Emmrich barely had enough time to register his victory. And even less so to acknowledge his error. Then the body descended towards him, taking him down into an undignified sprawl in mud, and rain, and blood.

He hit the ground hard. All air was forced out of him, leaving him coughing and choking on nothing. Pain, hot and white, burned his back.

For a moment, even the rain ceased to exist. Only decades of practice and discipline remained. He forced himself to blink. To breathe. To take stock of his surroundings. Somewhere to his left, an ogre roared, answered by Davrin’s war cry. Emmrich grunted and struggled to sit up.

“You okay?” Rook, forever looking out for him, suddenly kneeled at his side. She had her longbow in one hand, an arrow ready in the other. Eyes trained on the battlefield. “Can you get up?”

There was mud on his face, in his hair, soaking into his clothes. A sour taste in his mouth. His body ached. He was tired and cold, and the ground felt strangely inviting.

“Yes, dear.”

“Good!” And off she went, jumping gracefully to her feet, already firing away at their enemies.

Emmrich brought his legs under him, cursing his knees and the everlasting rain in equal measure.

By the time he was back on his feet, it was only the three of them against the last standing ogre. A formidable enemy in itself—towering high above them and roaring—but yet no match against the full attention of their party.

Between Assan overhead, with his sharp beak and even sharper claws, and their combined prowess, the beast fell soon after.

“Everyone alive?” Rook asked, coming up towards Davrin. The grey warden shouldered his shield, breath still coming hard. He, too, was covered head to toe in mud and grime.

“Yeah, sure. Well fought, by the way.”

“Thanks, Davrin!”

“For a veil-jumper, that is.”

“You weren’t so bad either. For a guy ducking behind a shield, I mean.”

Emmrich watched his two young friends squabble. By now it was a well-trained argument. Both grinned at each other and Davrin playfully knocked shoulder with the smaller Rook. A friendly gesture that earned him another smile from the elf, her eyes warm and her face open and cheerful.

It was the sort of look Emmrich would have never expected to find on a battlefield. Especially so under their dire circumstances. Fighting demons and darkspawn, invading armies, and angry mages… His back ached something awful. He hoped they would not encounter any more enemies. Or hop any walls. Or-

“Emmrich?”

He jumped, gripping the slippery handle of his staff. Rook blinked up at him, a curious look on her face.

“Oh. Yes, dear?”

“I asked if… are you okay?”

He smiled, waving her concern away.

“Of course. It’s just… dreadful weather. Maybe we ought to find shelter instead of more fights. At least for the time being.”

“Getting dry does sound like a plan,” Davrin agreed immediately. Assan squawked excitedly at his side, shaking his lanky body. Spraying mud and water everywhere.

“Okay.” Rook looked every bit as cold and wet as Emmrich himself felt. “Yeah, that’d be nice. Sun’s going down, anyway. Let’s head back home.”

Home, Emmrich mused as they started their trek back to Lavender. Home had always been the Great Necropolis. Its winding paths and great halls. Old bookshelves and blooming graves. But recently -  no . It was a fool's notion, he scolded himself. A much younger man’s dream.

By the time they made it back into town, the sun had gone down. Only a skeleton crew of wardens manned the entry to Lavender. Rook, who led them down the beaten path, greeted each warden they passed. Davrin and Emmrich walked side by side in silence.

Not even a few weeks ago this sort of silence would have brought discomfort, Emmrich mused. It was the sort of silence he often sought to fill with small talk or discussions. But they had come to know each other—Davrin and him. And between their duties as mentors for Assan and Manfred, they had not only found common ground among them but also a blossoming friendship. Now, the silence was full of understanding.

Davrin hummed under his breath, turning towards Emmrich.

“Lucanis’ on food duty tonight,” the young man said, a wistful tone to his voice.

“Ah,” Emmrich replied. That meant a hot meal, quality wine, and a lavish kind of dessert. He felt quite hungry. “I see now why you were so easily persuaded to head back.”

Davrin laughed.

“Hell yeah. Blasted rain is helping that, too. Being dry again…”

“It’ll do us all good.”

“Yeah! And after dinner I can finally finish that crow carving!”

“You’re scheduled for cleaning tonight,” Rook interjected, turning towards them. Grinning.

The serene smile on Davrin’s face froze.

“What? No. That can’t be… I was doing the dishes like… um.”

“Last week. It’s your turn!”

Listening to his friends bickering brought a smile to Emmrich. And despite the cold weather, he felt a soft kind of warmth warming his chest.

They were back the very next day. So was the rain.

Emmrich watched a particular dark cloud move overhead. Far on the horizon, purple lightning tore through the sky.

“Lovely,” Davrin mumbled. The warden had opted for a metal chest plate and thick leather armour. They had just walked out of the Eluvian, but he already looked displeased with the cold. “My leathers are still wet from yesterday.”

“At least your hair dries quick,” Rook quipped, pointing to her own long curls.

Davrin gave her a side glance, one eyebrow raised.

“It’s still wet.”

“You could wear your helmet, you know. Might helps with that.”

“You, of all people, know why I don’t,” he said, pointing at his ears. Rook snorted, good-natured, and started for the warden's camp.

“We’ll get you something fitted, then.”

Emmrich had resigned himself to another day of rain, mud, and darkspawn.

Possible mercenaries, he thought. If they could find the offending thugs looting the warden’s old treasures along the many ruins of the wetlands.

Certainly a day full of back pain.

Rising that morning had been unusually tough on him. A side effect of the many bruises he had acquired the day before with his tumble.

He could not be certain as there were no full mirrors in the lighthouse’s bath. But what he had seen of his own back was a surprisingly large patch of blues and purples. Emmrich had taken a healing potion before bed, but he was still sore.

Rook had taken one look at him right before breakfast and had offered to take Harding with them instead.

The hit to his back had been nothing compared to the damage that had been done to his pride. He had argued his way back into her company. Pain and mud be damned.

Emmrich clutched his staff in one hand, rubbing his lower back with the other. He watched Rook leap over a small pile of rubble before them—leaping instead of just stepping around it—and skipping down a few stairs. Laughing. Her hair whipped in the wind, her long coat trailed behind her.

So full of energy and life. So full of youth.

Oh, Volkarin, what an old fool you are.

To his immense relief, they did not encounter darkspawn that morning. And by midday, they had made their way deep into the wetlands. Ancient ruins of a warden fort loomed over them from beyond the fog. And a closed gate.

“Bummer,” Rook muttered to herself, kicking the metal gates.

Emmrich silently agreed to the sentiment.

“Maybe we can go around.”

“Unlikely,” Davrin said, a frown on his face. “These walls are still strong. They probably closed the gate behind them to keep the wardens out. See the mechanism over there?”

He pointed out a lever on the far side of the gate.

“You think Assan can get it for us?”

Davrin considered the question a moment before he shook his head no.

“He’d have to pull that down and over. He’s never done anything like that before. Sorry, Rook.”

“Don’t worry,” Rook answered, turning to Emmrich.

“A wisp?” She asked and voiced a thought that had already crossed his mind.

“It would have nothing to latch onto, I’m afraid. No body it could possess. The mechanism looks simple enough for us, but for a wisp… No. I am truly sorry, my dear.”

And he meant it. He was a powerful necromancer, after all. A locked gate shouldn’t be able to hold him back.

Rook, however, only nodded at him. An unbothered smile on her face.

“That’s okay. I think I can get it.”

“How?” Emmrich looked between her and the lever.

“Are you by chance planning on shooting it? I do not think that should work.”

She was an impressive shot, maybe even the best archer he had ever met. But he could not imagine how even she could make such a shot.

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess. The angle is all off; I can’t hit it right. I’ll do it by hand.”

“What?” Davrin asked. The warden was frowning at their companion, as confused as Emmrich felt.

Instead of explaining her plan further, Rook started stripping herself of her weapons. First her bow and quiver, then her twin swords. Davrin took the offered weapons, a befuddled expression on his face. Lastly, she shrugged out of her heavy overcoat, which she gave to Emmrich.

“Dear? What…?”

Rook’s plan became clear a moment later. The young elf took a few careful steps backwards, eyes on the stone walls. Then she used the distance as a run-up and jumped. She managed to hold on to a thin ledge and started climbing the outer wall next to the gate.

“Ah, well,” Davrin sighed, coming to stand beside Emmrich to get a better look at Rook. “That’s one way to do it.”

As Emmrich watched their rogue scaling the wall, he became aware of the sheer height of it. So close to it, he could not be exactly sure, but the top had to be twenty meters up. And the stone was not only wet, but also incredibly old.

A drop from this height…

Emmrich’s finger started tingling, his mouth awfully dry.

“Be careful, Rook!” Davrin shouted.

“Always am!” Rook’s voice strained under the effort of climbing.

Davrin snorted. They all knew by now that Rook was many things. Careful was not one of them.

Even through his worry, Emmrich had to admit that Rook was a fast climber. It only took her a few minutes to make it to the top of the wall. She was lucky enough to find a crumbled part of the wall to vault over and vanished from view.

Emmrich had never had a particular aversion against heights before. In fact, many of his favourite views in the Great Necropolis were from vantage points. Overviewing the gardens or the many foggy chasms.

He had felt anxious seeing her. Losing sight of Rook, though, he felt all the symptoms of acrophobia he could put a name to.

“Rook? You okay?” Judging by the nervous shuffle Davrin did next to him, he felt the same anxiety.

There was a moment of silence. Davrin stood so close, Emmrich could feel his body heat through the rain. Both stained to hear.

The moment passed. From beyond the wall, a rumble pierced the quiet. A heartbeat later, a thumb. Overhead, on top of the wall, Assan chirped in alarm.

“Rook!” Emmrich wasn’t sure if it was him or Davrin yelling. Both jumped forward, toward the gate.

No, no, no!  His thoughts raced, bringing up memories of the bodies of those who had died in accidents. Broken bodies, cold, on stone slabs in the dark.

No…

He reached the gate a moment before Davrin, scrambling to see—to reach and help—to—

“Ups,” Rook was right on the other side. On the ground, blinking up at him.

“Don’t move, Rook! Stay still! We will... we will get you.” He wasn’t too sure what he would have to do to get to her, but he would do it. If he could reach her, he could try and heal her. Maybe he could conjure something to open-

“I’m fine.”

Davrin pushed himself closer to Emmrich, whose thoughts came to a screeching pause.

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Slipped on the last part. Unfortunate.”

Emmrich’s heart was beating outside his chest as he watched Rook getting to her feet. Her colourful clothes and leathers were covered in mud. Her dark reddish hair and bronze skin hidden under it.

But all the same, she got to her feet. She grinned up at him sheepishly.

“So. Um… Made it?”

Chapter Text

The wardens were right to worry. A group of mercenaries had infiltrated the ruins. A couple of wooden boxes were already stashed outside, in the old courtyard. Two men stood beside a cart, both heavily armoured and armed.

Inside the fort, Emmrich and his companions could hear the sound of many more.

“Damn,” Davrin muttered, ducking back behind the wall they were covering behind.

“That’s a lot of mercenaries.”

Emmrich agreed. “We do have the element of surprise. But it will only last so long.”

“Yeah,” Rook leaned against the wall, her dagger in hand. She was fidgeting in the way she did when she was thinking on her feet. A nervous gesture she had since childhood, as she had told Emmrich just a week ago.

Emmrich himself tried to find a comfortable position to crouch. His back, for once, won for the most painful part over his knees. After their earlier excitement, he felt ready for a break. Only that would have to wait until after another potentially gruesome fight.

“Okay. We could jump them. Take a few out before the others know what’s up. Probably only a few,” Rook said, frowning.

“Means if we don’t take them out quick, we’ll have a long fight ahead,” Davrin argued.

“Yeah, yeah. Or we could try and get behind them. Take them out quietly.”

Emmrich hummed. “Stealth. Not an easy task for a mage and a warden.”

“Yes. But,” Rook hummed, pocketing her dagger. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do.”

It all depended on how alert their adversaries were. And how far spread out.

Rook had sneaked off, climbing another short wall to reach an upper floor. Here, vast parts of the fort had collapsed. Leaving ample opportunity to enter the main building.

As far as they were able to tell from below, the upper floor seemed to be deserted. Part of the seconds floor inside was no more. It would give Rook an oversight of the mercenaries. If they were lucky, she would take a few of them out with her arrows. Unseen from above.

She had taken her swords with her this time. As a backup plan, she had said. She planned to drop down and take out enemies in close range, if necessary.

Emmrich hoped it would not be.

Meanwhile, Emmrich and Davrin made their way closer to the main entrance. As soon as the mercenaries became aware of Rook, they would jump into the fight. Avert attention from their rogue.

Above, Assan circled the grey sky silently. With the rain and cloudy sky, he was well hidden. And ready to alert to any danger for Rook. Eager to ascend on their foes, too, if Davrin’s reassurance was to be believed.

“Emmrich,” Davrin murmured. “Don’t worry. It’ll work out fine.”

“I’m not worried,” Emmrich said stiffly, ignoring the anxiety that bubbled up inside him.

Davrin shot him an unimpressed look.

“She will be fine, then.”

Emmrich pretended not to hear. Mostly because he was uncertain how to respond. And maybe because he found the heat on his face distracting.

They crouched close to the front gate, hidden behind a large chunk of wall that had crumbled into itself.

From this point, they would be able to intervene with haste. Yet they had lost the advantage of their earlier post. Emmrich chanced a quick look over their cover.

The gate was massive, with an equally impressive set of stairs in front of it. Or, more precisely, what was left of them. Attackers from inside the building would have the high ground. But if Rook succeeded in her plan, there would be little to no mages or archers left to fight them anyway.

Easy pickings, she had called them. A downright wicked grin on her otherwise soft face. Emmrich’s professional dignity as a mage had fought with his treacherous heart over how to feel about a statement as this. He was still unsure what side had won.

If no ranged enemies would engage, Emmrich would hold the most favourable position in battle. At least in those crucial first moments. Shields and nimble movements could prevent many a hit in a fight. Yet they rarely helped against a well-aimed spell.

They also had their joker, high above them. Assan was still young for a griffon, but he already posed a sizeable threat if he put his mind to it.

“I cannot see inside. We will have to rely on Assan or suspicious noise,” Emmrich informed Davrin.

“Sure, gotta play it by ear. I can do that,” Davrin agreed, grinning. Amused by his own joke.

Rook would have found that hilarious, too, Emmrich knew.

Emmrich tried to settle behind their cover. He would need to prepare some spells, ready himself for the possibility of an extended fight. An experienced mage, Emmrich was used to finding his equilibrium in high-strung situations. He just had to push this pain and exhaustion away.

Easier said than done. He shuffled, pulling his robes closer around himself. It was freezing out here. Concentrate… He could not fail.

As it turned out, they did not have to wait very long.

Yelling erupted from inside the building. Davrin was on his feet in a heartbeat, sword and shield in hand. A battle cry on his lips, he charged forward. Emmrich was right behind him.

He was collecting the magic for a spell before he even saw their first enemy.

A man in leather with twin daggers in hand came stumbling from the shadows. Eyes wide and a mouth open in a scream that died with him as he crumbled to the cold floor. The arrow protruding from his back a clear indicator of who inflicted the wicked wound.

They emerged from the broken steps and burst into the fort.

Three armed fighters, swords drawn, had surrounded Rook. Or, tried to. The elf agilely dodged hits, rolling and jumping from hits. Loosing arrows whenever she was on her feet.

Davrin charged the closest attacker, forcing the man to turn and retreat a few steps. Davrin followed, his back to Rook. She turned on her heels, back to back with Davrin, drawing her swords.

Emmrich stayed back. His breathing hard from running. Magic pooled in his hands. It’s familiarity soothing his nerves. The worn wood of his staff was warm under his hands. It was easy, slipping into the rhythm of battle like this. A dance he was well versed in.

“Hail the dead!” He shouted the familiar term, throwing his first spell against one of the attackers still focused on Rook. The magic’s green light illuminated the room for a moment before it crashed into the mercenary. It pushed the man back, giving Rook space to initiate an attack against the other mercenary.

She went low, her swords at her side. Her opponent wielded a greataxe, the crude weapon already raised to meet her. She dodged his attack, closing the distance in a single jump, aiming for his guts.

Behind them, Davrin blocked a mace with his shield. The impact rang loud in the giant hall, echoing back from the high walls and what was left of the ceiling.

Emmrich twirled his staff, advancing on the fight. Magic thrummed through his body, electrified in his hands. He called upon the fade’s magic. The veil was thin here, the spirits drawn to a place with such rich history. He beckoned them nearer yet.

“Rook!”, Emmrich yelled. Rook spun on her heels, avoiding a slice of the axe narrowly. She jumped away from her opponent, giving Emmrich the space he needed to aim.

The mercenary fell, dead before he hit the ground. His weapon clattering to the stone floor.

“Well done, Emmrich!” Rook praised. A laugh in her voice. Her joy was contagious. And he felt elated. And, weirdly enough, lightheaded.

A break, he thought, catching his breath. Yes, I could go for a break now.

His back throbbed in tandem with his rapid heartbeat.

Probably all the climbing…

Assan screeched, and Davrin whooped as he thrust his sword deep in the last mercenary's side. The man groaned, losing the grip on his own weapon.

“That went well,” Rook turned, breathing heavily. She sheathed her swords in favour of her longbow. There was a pleased smile on her face, a twinkle to her amber eyes. Before Emmrich could agree, he heard Assan growl.

“Company,” Davrin warned darkly.

“The two guards outside,” Emmrich realised. In the thrill of the fight, he had all but forgotten the two mercenaries. The noise of the fight clearly had reached them, as Emmrich could now hear the clanking of heavy boots on stone.

Davrin and Rook exchanged a look before both jumped into action. Davrin sprinting towards the entrance while Rook circled the grounds, nocking the first arrow. Just like Emmrich, she preferred to strike from afar.

Steel on steel, Davrin met their newest enemies.

One of the men was of the same height as him, a single sword in hand. The other towered over the greywarden. A two-handed battle mace clutched in giant fists. Davrin was a formidable warrior; Emmrich had no doubt about it. But he would not be able to hold back both men for long.

Assan took flight, chirping excitedly.

The by-now-familiar whistle of an arrow passed Emmrich as Rook took her first shot. Her arrow found its target—the smaller mercenary howled in pain and stumbled backwards. An arrow to his shoulder.

Davrin turned, shield high. Anticipating the next attack. The battle mace scraped his shield, forcing him to take a step back.

Assan roared, soaring down from above. His sharp talons extended to reach for the man’s face. The mercenary ducked, bringing his mace back up in a spin. Narrowly missing Davrin, but reaching Assan. The griffin screeched in pain, landing hard.

And worse; he stayed down.

“Assan!” The terror in Davrin’s voice was palpable. Emmrich’s heart plummeted.

Oh no. He could not help but see Manfred in Assan’s place. Crumbled in the midst of battle. His body broken…

“Davrin! Cover Assan!” Rook yelled, sprinting towards them, “Emmrich!”

He forced himself out of the shock, reaching out to the fade, “I’m ready. Go!”

Magic pulsed around them. A living, coiling thing. It cooled his hands as it collected there. He watched Davrin slipping between the mercenaries and Assan’s body, shielding his ward against further harm. Rook had already crossed half the room, loosing an additional arrow to further cover their friends.

Their enemy turned toward the young elf. A sneer on his face. He dodged the arrow, if only barely, raising his mace. Ready to strike again.

Rook engaged in a flurry of movement, dodging and attacking in rapid succession. But she could not measure up to his brute strength. Would not be able to withstand a hit. In close range, she could not rely on her aim. Emmrich knew that her swords were her last defence and her weakest form of attack.

He needed to weaken the enemy. To present Rook with a window of opportunity. His spell was almost ready. Only a few mere moments, then he could help level the battlefield. Maybe even tilt it in Rook’s favour.

Rook dodged a wide swing with a roll. She came up in a crouch, swords at her side.

Now! He turned, gathering the magic around his staff. Bringing it back and low.

She must have been aware of Emmrich’s incoming attack. Rook got to her feet, taking a few quick steps back. The man roared in rage. Eyes fixated on her.

Emmrich aimed. Released the spell in a fluid movement, thrusting his staff forward.

Pain erupted in his back, down his spine. He lost sight of the fight. All thoughts came to a halt. A whiteout.

He was underwater, suddenly. Blind and deaf. There was only one sensation, and it was all-encompassing. A white blanket that covered him completely.

Agony.

‘Emmrich.’

Air. He needed to breathe. There was a persistent noise, a hum, in his ears. That and nothing more. Which was funny… Should there not be more noise? Some part of him remembered noise, just a moment ago.

‘Emmrich!’

Oh. There was noise. Muffled and slightly distorted. But it was there. It was - Rook.

He blinked his eyes open. Not remembering when he had closed them. The stone under his knees was freezing and wet. Why was he on the floor? His hands were cramped around his staff. It took Emmrich a moment to breathe through another wave of excruciating pain. Trying to find his way back to the present.

Rook. The fight! Oh no.

Looking up, his blood turned to ice.

The fight had turned against them. Maybe his spell had missed. Maybe it had failed. It was all the same. The mercenary was unaffected. Enraged, even. And unrelenting in his efforts to bash Rook’s skull in.

She dodged his many attacks, but it was obvious that the extended combat was taking a toll on her. Emmrich could see her slowing down. Instead of retaliating with her own attacks, Rook was concentrated on evasion. Her long hair plastered to her sweaty face. He could see how hard she was breathing. Belatedly he realised that she had lost one of her swords.

Behind that, Davrin was defending Assan from the other mercenary.

For a moment, their eyes met. Davrin looked worried. Scared.

He needed to get up. Get a grip, Volkarin. You old fool, you failed them. Again.

Emmrich pulled on himself, on whatever strength he had left in the moment. He could wallow in self-loathing later. Now, he needed to save her. She had always believed in him. She had believed him when he had said he would be fit enough for today’s excursion.

He took a breath, held it, and let it go slowly. It hurt. And he did it again, deeper and longer. The pain was still present, but his head cleared. He pushed to his feet, grinding his teeth against the pain. Pitiful, how a couple of bruises had brought him to his knees. His face felt hot. Shame coursing through his veins.

He pulled magic from the fade. For once, uncaring about proper decorum. It was raw, unrefined. But powerful. He took another measured breath and aimed. Rook was almost out of room to evade. Her eyes wide and fearful.

This time, his spell hit true. The mercenary groaned, stumbled. He did not lose his footing or the grip on his weapon. But it was enough to allow Rook to disengage. He caught her eyes.

“Help Davrin!” he shouted, putting as much strength as he could muster behind his voice. Pleased, that it did not waver.

For a moment he thought she would disregard him. She looked at him, concern written all over her face. But then Assan whimpered, and Rook turned away from him.

Chapter Text

The mercenary did not follow Rook. Emmrich was thankful for it. Instead, the man turned towards him.

“Always hated mages,” he said. Voice gruff. There was blood on his armour and on his face. Rook must have gotten a few hits in. “I’m gonna break you,” the man promised.

Emmrich had fought his fair share of battles. He had started out as a most timid child, but with time and practice had grown into a promising young mage. Afraid, but determined to learn and proof himself. As a professor, he prided himself on both his knowledge and his experience in more practical magic.

Emmrich straightened his back as much as he could. He would not give in.

“You may try.”

And try he did.

What an impressive display of stamina , Emmrich thought as he lopped another spell at the man. The other grunted but did not falter in his advance. Emmrich managed to avoid the first swing. Stepping back, he collected his thoughts.

Magic required a certain clarity of mind to be used. Finding equilibrium even under the worst of circumstances was a skill all mages needed to master. He took a deep breath. Dodged a wide swing. His back flared in sudden pain; his connection to the fade wavered.

The mercenary swung the mace over his side, backwards. Knees bend, a wicked smile on his face. A grotesque reminder of the darkspawn that had pounced on Emmrich not only a full day before.

This time, Emmrich pushed through the spell before his opponent could move.

The man screamed as green flames burst against his breastplate. His mace clattered to the floor. He roared in pain, hands pressed against his face. His legs gave out under him.

Emmrich took a shaking breath, risking a glance at Rook and Davrin. Relief flooded him at the sight of Rook, who had just brought down the other mercenary.

It is over.  His legs felt weak. Exhausted. As if she could sense him, Rook turned. For a second the worried expression melted away from her face. She smiled. That wonderful, lovable, and wholly crooked smile he had come to adore.

She is okay. We really did make it.

Her smile ceased to be as fast as it appeared. There was movement in his peripheral vision. A mace. A giant, two-handed mace. Aiming for his head.

The next moment was a blur. Emmrich stumbled backwards. Reaching blindly for magic that would not come. The mercenary's face was almost gone. Melted off into a mask of pure hatred.

That’s impossible.  Nobody should be able to survive mage fire to the face. There was only one eye left. And it was focused on him. Emmrich stared in horror. Frozen to the spot.

The mace moved impossibly slow. He saw the crude weapon that would end his life. Recognised the rage in that one dark, bloodshot eye.

No, not like this. Not now.

Then she was between them. Her blade flashing, teeth bared, she crashed into the husk of the mercenary. He stumbled, and Rook used her momentum to bury her sword into his side. It struck true, slipping between melted metal and leather.

The mace fell sideways. The mercenary groaned breathlessly. He managed to grab Rook’s hand, and she yelped in pain, but then his legs gave way beneath him. He took her with him to the ground.

“Oww,” Rook muttered. Emmrich stumbled forward, reaching for her shoulder. She lay on her side, her arm still trapped in the dying man’s grip.

“Rook!”

Before he could get to his knees, she turned towards him. Her eyes were wide and wet, but determined.

“No!” she said, her voice harsh. “Assan. Help Assan. I’m fine, Emmrich. I’m okay.”

Assan.  He stopped in his tracks.

“Yes, of course.”

Davrin was on his knees, cradling Assan’s head in his lap. He had one hand on the griffon’s shoulder, the other on his head, slowly stroking the sleek feathers. Whispering soothing words to his young companion.

“Emmrich!” Davrin’s face was all worry and weariness, “are you okay? Can you help him?”

Emmrich ignored the first question. He lowered himself carefully to the floor, mindful not to touch the griffon. Assan’s eyes were wide and wild. He was breathing rather fast. And he was shaking under Davrin’s hands.

One of his front legs was extended before him, bent in a way that made it clear why he had not been able to get back up.

“I’ll need to touch him,” Emmrich explained, “to evaluate the extent of the damage.”

“Yes,” Davrin agreed. “You hear that, Assan? Emmrich is going to help you. Be a good boy, okay? No fussing now.”

The griffon whimpered but stayed mercifully still.

Emmrich slowly reached for the broken limp. He was painfully aware of how exhausted he was. He would not be able to restore the young griffon back to health in this state. Still, he might be able to take some of the pain.

The bone under his hand was clearly split, the limp already swollen. But the skin was whole. He could set the bone and soothe the misery. At least for a while.

Emmrich closed his eyes, focusing on a spell that would numb the leg. The magic was slow to come to him and tingled in his hands. He let the spell wash over his hands, guiding the magic to Assan. Ever so slowly, he could feel the griffon relax.

Once he was sure Assan would not feel it, he carefully straightened the limp.

“We need to bind it,” Emmrich started, voice husky. “We need—“

“Here,” Rook interrupted, next to him. She shoved her med-kit and a piece of wood in his hands. “Will this do?”

“Yes. Thank you, Rook,” Emmrich said. He busied himself with the kit, avoiding both her and Davrin’s eyes. He saw the way she cradled her left hand against her chest. The hand the mercenary had grabbed. Hurt because of him.

“You are hurt,” he said, voice low.

Rook hummed, “it’s not that bad. Just sore.”

“I can heal it in a moment,” he promised, although he knew he would be hard pressed to summon an adequate amount of magic.

But it is my fault she is hurt. I have to fix it. I can overexert myself , he thought.  I am  not  that frail.

“No,” Rook answered, and he could hear the finality in her voice. “It can wait. Spare the energy. We don’t have the time, anyway.”

“You think there are more out there?” Davrin asked, his voice low and strained.

“Maybe. But I don’t want to risk it. And Assan needs to be home. Now.”

“Yes,” Davrin’s voice quivered ever so slightly. “He does.”

They readied themselves as quickly as they could. Rook gathered her lost sword, and Davrin prepared to carry Assan home. Emmrich waited at the edge of the entrance under the pretence of surveillance. He leaned heavily on the old stone, the cold a welcome balm against his aching body. He tried to steel himself for the questions that would inevitably come. Questions he had no real answers to.

He heard soft steps behind him and gathered himself.

“Hey,” Rook said quietly. “Are you hurt?”

“Rook.”

“Please, Emmrich. I just,” she faltered, and he turned, finally looking at her. She looked haunted, tired. She reached out, one gloved hand on his elbow. The other awkwardly held against her side. Eyes bright with an emotion he could not quite name. Foreign on her face as it was.

“I just need to know. Can you make it back?”

He recognised the out she gave him. It was no secret that Rook highly valued honesty. And he would despise to lie to her, even if it was a white lie. He felt thankful that she would preserve his dignity like this. And self-conscious at the necessary.

“I promise, I can. I will not slow you down.”  Again , he did not add.

Rook’s eyes lingered a moment longer on him before she finally nodded. A frown on her face, her lips pressed together. Not satisfied with the answer, but she nodded all the same. Letting the argument go, at least for the moment.

Another thing to be thankful for. Another instance of her saving him.

The way back was excruciating but—mercifully—uneventful. Davrin, slowed down by Assan’s weight, walked silently behind Rook. She had taken his shield to ease his burden. Emmrich had offered to carry Davrin’s pack, but the grey warden had declined him. At the moment it had felt almost almost insulting.

As he now slowly trailed Davrin, he had to reconsider that feeling.

It was past nightfall when they returned to Lavender. Beaten and bruised. Defeated, even in victory.

“Oh! Oh no, what happened?” Bellara hurried towards them, worry clear on her face. “Assan?”

“Broken leg,” Rook informed her. “If I get Neve, do you think you can patch him up?”

“Oh, sure! Yeah, we can do that!” She turned to Emmrich, eyes wide. “If that is … okay?”

He knew she asked to spare his feelings. Over time, he had become their dedicated healer. Bellara and Neve were just as capable, of course. But he always ended up being the one fussing about his companions. That she was considerate about it…

What a sweet girl, indeed.

“It’s fine,” Rook interrupted, voice even and free of emotions, before Emmrich could muster the strength to inform her of his shortcomings. “Emmrich already did his part in the field.”

“Oh, okay. Rook,” Bellara said, clearly unsure. She gave him one last glance before she hurried after Davrin.

There was nothing left to do but retreat to his room. Licking his wounds—both physical and emotionally—in solitude.

“Emmrich, please. Wait,” Rook said, stepping towards him. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest.”

She was much shorter than him. Much younger, too. But in moments like this, he knew why it was her that led them in this impossible mission. The way she stood before him, straight back, tackling the conversation despite the face that he knew she wanted to do anything but. He knew she valued their choices, their freedom. Hated to interpose herself in their decisions. Maybe more than a leader should. Certainly more than others would. Even if those decisions went against her own beliefs.

“Of course, Rook. Always.”

“Are you okay?”

His mouth felt dry; his face burned. “I- I am fine.”

“Emmrich,” the frown on her face deepened.

“I will be fine.”

“Are you sure? I can ask Neve, or Bellara -“

It was his turn to interrupt her, “no. I only wish to clean up and get some rest. If you are sure you would not wish for me to look after your arm, I shall retreat to my room.”

She sighed deeply, looking down at her wounded arm for a moment. When she looked back up, her face was carefully blank.

“Yeah, I’m sure about that,” she said, voice sour. “Probably the only thing I’m sure about now.” There was an argument there. She was inviting him to take it. But she was not pressuring him into it. He knew she was as tired as he was. And on top of that, in pain. He ached for her forgiveness. But if age had taught him anything, it was that arguments were never this easy. And best not engaged like this.

He would raise to it.

“I would turn in, then. For the night.”

Rook stared at him for a moment longer, searching his face for … something. Her own face not giving away a clue of what she might be thinking. He had believed himself close enough to his young friend to be able to read her. Now, he realised he had just been kidding himself.

“Okay,” she relented, finally. “Sleep well, Emmrich.”

“Thank you,” he said, fleeing from her.

He had cleaned himself and dressed in fresh clothes he liked to sleep in. In the dark, despite the fact that Manfred had been eagerly collecting candles for him. Even at night the fade was never completely dark. Emmrich found himself unwilling to face the light. And what was there to see, anyway? His own old face. An old necromancer who had fooled himself into believing he could keep up with a company of young adventurers and heroes.

The pain in his back was considerable, and Emmrich downed another potion before turning in for the night. Even though he was exhausted, the day’s event left him restless and unable to find sleep.

He could not forget Assan’s cries. Davrin’s haunted face at the sight of his beloved griffon in such immediate danger. And Rook’s … worry? Disappointment? Anger? He was unsure what exactly he had seen on her face after the battle. Too afraid to even look.

When he had agreed to leave his home and join this group on their impossible quest, he had not expected to find so much more than, well, work. But he found colleagues. Friends, even. And with Rook… her advances had been most unexpected. But not unwelcome.

He had thought them a fluke, at first. Maybe something of a character quirk on her end. It was an interesting premise, to be sure. And over the span of a few weeks he had grown quite close to her. It was easy, falling for her. Perhaps too easy. Of course, there were doubts. And not only on his end. He was aware of the way Harding disapproved of the notion. Not to mention the timing… fighting blight, ancient elven gods. Their fates so unsure. And so he had pushed down these gentle feelings, growing like spring flowers between his rib cage.

But she had persisted, sincere in her interest in him. He had wanted to discuss it. But Emmrich had never found the right time. And then Weisshaupt had happened, and their attention had been diverted to a dozen new problems.

Lately, she had been distant. Preoccupied by responsibilities laid upon her. Or maybe she had simply lost interest. She was young. At her age, people were changeable. And he would not add to her burden simply to free himself of such petty insecurities.

Maybe it was best left alone. He needed to concentrate on the road ahead. They all did. Clarity of mind, equilibrium of the soul.

He drifted, somewhere between sleep and restlessness, until someone knocked on the laboratory’s door.

“Emmrich?” Bellara’s soft voice asked into the darkness. “Are you here? Rook asked me to check on you?”

His bed was hidden behind bookshelves. And Bellara did not step into the gloom of his domain. He could almost picture her, uncertain, hovering at his door.

Of course Rook had sent Bellara. He knew it was borne out of concern. Kindness. The young elf was forever looking out for everyone she met. It was not like him to ignore such compassion. He struggled between his nature as a teacher, to respond to Bellara and lessen her responsibilities, and his desire to be left alone with his treacherous feelings.

“Oh, um,” Bellara muttered, before he could bring himself to make up his mind. “Guess you’re asleep, then. Sweet dream, Professor. Good night, Manfred!”

Manfred hissed somewhere in the dark, and she closed the door behind her.

What a dear girl , he thought. His chest heavy.

(I just remembered I can insert pictures here. So you guys can see how my Rook looks. Or at least how I paint here!)

Chapter Text

Sunrise in the fade was a curious thing. At night the sky would dim and darken considerably, but never quite lost its luminescence. Days were lighter, yet never quite bright. Without a sun wandering the sky, time was an almost intangible concept. One that moved different in the fade. And the circle of night and day never seemed to last the same amount of hours twice.

Emmrich was an early riser; always had been. He had learnt it from his parents as a young boy. The Mourn Watch had made it a habit until it had become second nature. He liked to start his day with some light exercises. It woke his body and mind, as well as allowing him time to himself. Sometimes he gathered his thoughts; other times he let his mind wander.

He knew people often assumed him to be a connoisseur of the finer tastes of life. There was certainly beauty in fine art, exquisite cloth, and expensive jewellery. Emmrich would never deny this. But nothing moved his heart more than the simple beauty of a flower in full bloom or, more to the point, the soothing sight of sunrise on a clear day.

Emmrich realised he had not seen a sunrise in quite some time.

The morning after their fight in the wetlands, Emmrich watched the endless horizon surrounding the lighthouse slowly brighten from the hollow comfort of his bed. The night had passed in agonisingly slow hours of wakefulness, chased by restless moments of sleep.

Behind the bookshelves he could hear Manfred clattering about. The spirit had naturally adapted to the times Emmrich kept. In the mornings, Manfred liked to prepare the first tea of the day. Straighten things up around the room. Simple things that slowly turned into more complex tasks the more Manfred developed.

Another thing of beauty many would never see or appreciate.

Emmrich pushed himself up. His back felt stiff, and he was certainly still exhausted, but once he moved, the lingering pain in his joints eased.

He dressed himself in simple but comfortable robes and went to greet Manfred.

The skeleton hissed happily, already armed with a teacup he enthusiastically offered.

“Thank you, Manfred. How very kind of you,” Emmrich praised.

He took the tea to the balcony.

Probably best to avoid morning stretches, just today. Maybe he could try one of Rook’s meditations instead. He knew she had taken quite a liking to them, even though they had been developed out of the necessity of reaching Solas.

The way she had explained it, she had found a way to find peace in them.

And wasn’t that a thing of beauty, too?

The fade was cold out here. Not biting like a winter’s night, but chilling like a spring’s morning before a day of warmth. He settled into one of the chairs Manfred had found and dragged to him not even a week before. It was quiet, still. He idly wondered if he and Manfred were the only ones awake yet.

The cup was pleasant in his hands, warmth seeping through his skin. The stream hit his face. Manfred had chosen one of Emmrich’s herb assortments. Green herbs mixed with ginger and spices. Just a touch of lemon and honey. Manfred really was growing in many ways.

He watched the fade around them slowly turning from a dark peacock into a light steel blue. The transition was slow, and Emmrich took time to reflect on the last days.

Or, he tried to. Even with his experience, looking back at one's own shortcomings was a painful thing. Especially if said shortcomings were still so close.

His aching body reminded him once again of the passing of time. His time. Running out, and faster than he liked.

And Rook, beautiful, young, patient Rook , had been witness to it.

She will want to talk about it. Demand an explanation. He knew she would not force one out of him. But he wanted to present her with something all the same. It was the kind of person she was. Honest and open to her team, she inspired the same virtues in them.

The conversation was inevitable. And he wanted to prepare himself best he could.

The early quiet ended rather abruptly. From below his balcony, voices rang out.

“Good morning, Taash!” Lace Harding called, her voice carrying far in the unnatural stillness of the fade.

“Morning,” Taash returned.

“How are you? Slept well?”

“Sure,” Taash replied, short-worded as they always were. It took a beat of silence before they returned the question.

Harding had a laugh in her voice, “Oh, you know me. I’m good. Had a funny dream. Not the one with the nugs, tho.”

“The circus nugs?”

“Yeah! But it wasn’t that one. Anyway. You think the others are up already?”

Taash seemed to contemplate the questions for a moment. “Dunno. Lucanis probably is. Just met Rook, too.”

That caught Emmrich’s attention. Rook was not an early riser by nature or habit and usually avoided it whenever she knew she could get away with it.

“She’s up already? Weird. Why isn’t she with you?”

“Oh, nah,” Taash said, “went to bed just now. She was up on Spite duty tonight.”

“Wasn’t she, like, hurt yesterday? Wait—I thought Neve wanted to stay up for Spite?” Harding seemed just as confused as Emmrich felt.

“Neve fixed her arm, I think. After her and Bellara helped Assan, and all that. Rook said healing’s exhausting for mages. I don’t know.”

Oh, Rook. She must have sent Neve to rest and taken over her duties. His chest felt uncomfortably tight. Even after getting hurt, she had provided for her team. While he had been in bed, wallowing in self-pity.

“So, that leaves Davrin?” Harding asked slowly.

“With Assan.”

“And Emmrich.”

“Dunno.”

Emmrich could hear someone shuffling. Probably Taash; they often did. Most often if they felt uncomfortable.

“Oh,” Harding’s voice was thoughtful. “You think Rook’s right? About him?”

His heart missed a beat. What?

“Dunno,” Taash repeated. “Let Rook figure it out. I want breakfast.”

“Yeah, okay. Uh! You think Lucanis will make pancakes? With jam and everything?”

“Ugh, again?”

“Yeah!”

It took a considerable amount of time to talk himself down. Pacing was heavily involved. And another cup of tea.

At the end of it, breakfast had come and gone, and Emmrich was no closer to even imagining what Rook could have said to the rest of the team the night before.

Maybe she regrets not taking on a younger watcher. It was not the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Unbidden and unwelcome. He knew such thoughts were only reflections of his own insecurities. But then… he was only human. And uncertainty weighed heavily on his heart.

By mid-morning he had thrown himself into his studies. Maybe he could salvage his reputation in a more scholarly way. A way that reflected his finer abilities. If he could present Rook and the others with some discovery over how they would be able to defeat the gods, how to weaken the hold they had over the blight, or maybe strike down their dragons… yes. Such a revelation would surely shine a favourable light on him. The last two days had only been a fluke. An unfortunate chain of events. And were not reflective of his character or skills.

And certainly not a sign of his age. No matter how often the thought crossed his mind.

He was just reading up about the second blight as someone knocked on his door.

“Yes?”

Bellara opened the door.

“Oh, good, you’re up. I mean, good morning, professor—erm, Emmrich,” Bellara faltered for a moment. He smiled at her, encouragingly. As a professor he often dealt with nervous mages. This felt familiar.

“Good morning, my dear. Or maybe I should say, good day,” he said, setting his book aside, “seeing how the day has already progressed. How may I be of service?”

Bellara smiled back at him, slowly relaxing.

“Oh, yes. About that. We thought—that is, Neve and I. We, um, slept in? And I met Taash in the kitchen, and they said you hadn’t had breakfast, too. So, Neve and I thought you’d like to join us? For breakfast, I mean.”

Their thoughtfulness never ceased to amaze him.

“I’d love to,” he said, even though he felt little appetite.

Bellara’s smile widened immediately.

“And that’s when I caught him,” Neve said, gesturing with her fork over a stack of freshly baked pancakes.

“Oh wow, Neve,” Bellara said, all admiration and wide eyes, “and did you ever find the magister’s third wife?”

Neve laughed, “No, but maybe she did get away with her handmaidens.”

“Were they… you know?” Bellara asked, hushed, leaning forward over her own plate.

“A thing?”

“Yes!”

“Well,” Neve leaned back, a hand on her chin, “there were rumours of the sort. But then again, it’s Tevinter. There’s always rumours of this sort.”

“Oh, I hope they were! Wouldn’t that be so romantic?” Bellara turned to him.

Emmrich rolled a warm mug of tea between his cold hands. Trying to chase away the chill that seemed to cling to him.

“Most certainly. It would, however, be the first story we heard from Neve with a happy ending.”

“Oh no,” Neve laughed, “can’t have that. A dozen mages died. People vanished without any leads. You can’t think that’s romantic, Emmrich?”

“But they had reasons to poison the ball,” Bellara argued.

“True. Well, maybe it has somewhat of a happy ending. For some involved. Who would have guessed—an almost happy ending in Tevinter?"

Neve shared a mischievous smile over her mug of coffee with Emmrich as Bellara started with more speculations.

Emmrich was pleased he had joined them. Both the food and the lovely company had succeeded in taking his mind off of his earlier musings. He felt lighter. Less anxious.

The door behind them opened, and Lucanis walked in, a stack of dishes in hand.

“Oh, good. You’re still here,” he said. “I’ll go and make some more coffee.”

He hurried over to the small kitchen area, looking back at Emmrich.

“And tea, of course,” he added.

“Oh, I can help,” Bellara offered, mouth half full with the remnants of her pancakes.

Lucanis smiled at her, “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy your day off.”

“Don’t we all,” Neve agreed, “it’s good, taking a break.”

“Neve, it’s good to hear you say that,” there was open relief in Lucanis’ voice, “you deserve a break. After all that happened.”

Neve averted her eyes. The smile on her face dimmed but did not leave her completely.

“Thank you. I—it's tough. But I think I can see it now. Why Rook chose how she did. There was no right choice, anyway, right?” She looked up from her hands and caught Emmrich’s eyes.

“No,” Emmrich agreed. “It’s good to see you smile again, in any case.”

“Yes, we were really worried about you,” Bellara agreed, her voice warm and earnest.

Emmrich could see how misty Neve’s eyes were. He could only imagine the struggle she had been through. Still went through every time she returned to the ruins of Docktown.

“Here,” Lucanis put a tray of colourful cookies before them, breaking the tension. “Hardin and Taash got them from- somewhere. The lords of fortune, I think.”

“Cookies? Right after pancakes?”

“Oooh, I’ll take some, please.” Bellara made a grabbing motion towards the plate, and Emmrich pushed it over to her. “Thank you! I love to try new stuff. Food, I mean.”

She chose a cookie with pink and blue icing on top, inspecting it a moment before she bit into it.

“So?” Neve enquired, “How is it?”

Bellara chewed on the cookie for a moment, contemplating, before she reached for her coffee.

“Different.”

Emmrich could not help but join in with Neve’s and Lucanis’ laughter.

Bellara joined him on his way back to the laboratory. She had enquired about a theoretical framework about the finer construction of metamorphical remembrance magic. And he had just the book for her.

They met Rook halfway to his room.

She was dressed in colourful Dalish clothes that flowed softly around her. Her hair was still in her half-up style, but some of it had come undone and hung in wild curls around her face. Her bare feet were silent on the mossy stone floor.

“Hey, Rook!” Bellara greeted as they stopped, “Short night?”

Rook grumbled something in return, her eyes heavily hooded. She was the picture of interrupted sleep. And it was utterly endearing.

“Good morning, Rook,” Emmrich said, trying for a soft smile.

She blinked up at him, and he could see the deep-set shadows under her eyes.

“Hey,” Rooks said, voice still rough from sleep. She stared blankly at him for a moment, and he wondered what she saw before Bellara’s question seemed to sink in.

“Um, I stayed up with Spite,” she gestured towards the kitchen, ending the moment between them. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Bellara giggled, “Lucanis is in there. Go get your coffee.”

Chapter Text

Emmrich sorted through his books while Bellara rapidly brought him up-to-date with her research. A fascinating topic. She was truly a talented young mage with a brilliant mind. Bellara could have brought many of his colleagues to shame with her vast knowledge of magical artefacts. And yet she was such a modest, well-meaning young woman. Driven solely by the pursuit of knowledge for her people.

She had found a way to potentially recharge the ancient power crystals without damaging the Nadas Dirthalen.

And Emmrich was more than pleased to help in this undertaking.

“Ah, here,” he said, pulling the last of three books from his shelf. “This should do most beautifully. The author was a brilliant scholar, remarkably well-versed with magical power sources. It supplements the others nicely.”

“Thank you, professor,” Bellara said, taking the book carefully from him. She opened it like one would handle a most fragile antiquity. Awe was written all over her face. It warmed his heart in a way he could not put into words.

“And it’s really okay if I borrow it?” She had already asked so twice, but Emmrich was more than happy to ease her mind.

“Of course, my dear. After all, books are only of value if we read them.”

“I will take really good care of them!”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

She left him shortly after, eager to dive into her new studies. Having a student like her around felt invigorating. And Emmrich found himself equally enthusiastic to return to his own work.

####

He was halfway through his second book when a knock interrupted his reading.  Again .

“Yes?”

His door opened, revealing Rook. She still looked tired, but more alert than before. And she was carrying a tray with food in her hands.

“Hey,” she said, closing the door behind her with her foot. “I thought I’d bring you something to eat.”

That is… most unusual.

“Rook, thank you. Is that dinner?” Time must have gotten away from him.

Rook huffed, a noise somewhere between amusement and bewilderment.

“No, I’m afraid it’s supper,” she said as she set the tray down on his desk.

“Supper?” he asked, turning around to take a look at the sky. It was indeed darker than he had thought. But night, already?

“Lucanis said you were pretty invested in your reading,” Rook gestured towards his books, “or studies?”

“Lucanis?”

“He checked on you earlier.” Her tone was light, but something lingered in her eyes. A fleeting shadow, there and gone in a moment. Then she smiled at him, soft and reassuring.

“I did not notice.” Try as he might, he had no recollection of Lucanis stopping by.

“Well,” she soothed, “He is an excellent assassin. Being unnoticeable and all that.”

She nudged the tray closer to him.

“Eat up!” Rook jumped up on his autopsy table, legs crossed under here. “I collaborated with Davrin tonight. We made stew. It’s plants and herbs, no meat.”

“It smells amazing, thank you,” he praised, putting his books out of harm's way. He took a careful first bite, mindful of the steaming hot potatoes. The stew had a rich flavour, the vegetables tender. He tasted thyme, rosemary, and a slight touch of lemon. The sweet tomatoes a contrast to the salty broth.

“This is exquisite, Rook.”

Her smile widened at the compliment. She enjoyed cooking and often took over in the kitchen. It was a somewhat unexpected side of her.  But it made sense , he mused,  in the context of her life . From what little he knew, she had been on her own for quite a substantial amount of her life. Her affiliation with the Veil Jumpers had lasted for only a few short years. And then she had only been with Varric for about a year before…

Harding sometimes talked about it. Of Varric, Rook, and Harding as a team. Their shared adventures. Alone on the hunt for Solas. Rook, meanwhile, never talked about it. Never opened up about the complicated feelings he was sure she had buried somewhere deep inside.

Her survival skills made sense. The cooking, the hunting, the combat skills. As did her sometimes withdrawn attitude. The way she seemed both eager and wary of company.

Rook thumbed idly through one of his books. A newer tomb about death rites across Thedas. She stopped occasionally, taking her time with the intricate illustrations.

He made it almost halfway through his meal before his appetite faded. The peppermint tea that accompanied his food was a pleasant refreshment after the hearty meal.

“Done already?” Rook asked, her eyes lingering on the book.

“I’m sorry,” he meant it. “It is delicious. I’m not feeling especially hungry tonight.”

She considered this for a moment. “Maybe you’re tired? When did you get up today?”

“Oh,” he played with the mug in his hands. “At my usual time.”

Which was certainly true. He had forgone his morning exercises but had not slept in.

“You should start naps. I encourage naps, you know.”

He laughed at that. “So I have heard.”

The conversation had reached its natural conclusion, and yet Rook lingered. She had forgone to feign interest in his literature and just stared blankly ahead of her.

“Rook,” she looked up, catching his eyes. “You look… troubled.”

“I’m fine. I just. We received news from Antiva.”

“The Crows?”

“Yeah. Lucanis’ stressed about it. We’re going to check it out tomorrow,” she sighed, rubbing her hands together in a nervous gesture. “Lucanis, of course, and me. Neve offered to join, too.”

Ah, here it is.  After weeks of taking Emmrich to every assignment of hers, she was now leaving him behind. Her lingering in his presence, the struggle he could see in her, it made sense now. It was worry that kept her.

She really is a kind soul.

If he could not help her in the field, he could at least alleviate her misguided guilt.

“I’m certain it will do Neve good to be out and about. To see anything besides Docktown’s destroyed streets.”

There was a curious assortment of feelings on Rook’s face. Surprise, shortly followed by something too fast to put a name to it. And finally, relief.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her voice solemn, “I hope so, too.”

###

Rook, Lucanis and Neve left so early the next morning that not even Emmrich had been awake to see them off.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Emmrich had woken up with severe back pain that would not leave him and which had effectively prevented him from another round of morning exercises. His irritation had only grown from there. Manfred, in his constant effort to find new ways to be helpful, had taken it upon himself to clean up Emmrich’s desk overnight. Where his half-read book had ended up, however, was a question the young spirit had no answer to.

Mercifully, breakfast was a quiet affair between him, Harding and Taash. Bellara had bustled in at some point, only to gather a few items. Still too deep in her project to pry herself away for more than mere minutes.

Harding planned another outing with Taash, while Taash wolfed their breakfast down, only occasionally grunting in agreement to Harding’s plans. Or disagreement. It was rather hard to tell.

He went to collect the tray Rook had brought him the night before. He had slept through the night, but he felt just as tired as the days before. And he dreaded a day of research under such circumstances.

A generous amount of food was balanced on the tray as he went to find Davrin and Assan.

Assan evidently was still on bed rest.  Literally , to Emmrich’s amusement.

The griffon chirped excitedly from his place on Davrin’s pillow as Emmrich set down the food.

“Thank you, Emmrich,” Davrin said, voice still rough from sleep, “This looks wonderful.”

He gestured for Emmrich to sit down in front of his fireplace as he started to butter the first toast.

“I’m sorry I did not check in with you yesterday,” Emmrich began, but Davrin waved him off.

“Ah, don’t be silly. We spent pretty much the whole day lying around, anyway.”

“All the same, I wanted you to know I was thinking of you. I hope Assan is doing better?”

At the mention of his name, Assan perked up.

“He’s fine,” Davrin assured, throwing Assan the toast. “Don’t think I can hold him here much longer.”

“His injury has healed already?”

“I don’t reckon he cares much about proper recovery time, but yeah. Between the three of you, he got the best care I could’ve asked for.”

“I barely did anything. Neve and Bellara deserve all the honour.”

Davrin hummed good-naturedly. “Had a feeling you’d say something like that. But really, Emmrich. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten him here without you. I mean it. Thank you.”

The open affection in Davrin’s voice made Emmrich pause. It was suddenly hard to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Mother was right , he thought as he watched Davrin throw Assan a second toast.  I am entirely too sensitive.

###

“Oh, Emmrich,” Bellara’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Which in turn made Manfred stumble into him. Luckily, the skeleton was not only short but also rather light. He caught his ward by his humerus bone.

“Oops, sorry.”

“Don’t be, dear. I’m sure Manfred does not mind.”

Manfred hissed happily at them both, one gloved hand in a thumbs-up gesture.

“See? It’s all well.”

“Oh, thanks, Manfred,” Bellara said, before she turned her attention to Emmrich. “Are you heading out?”

“Yes. I thought Manfred could do with a nice walk in the Necropolis. And I have a few tasks I would like to accomplish there, too. We won’t be back later than nightfall.”

Bellara opened her mouth, her brow furrowed, almost like she wanted to argue with his plans. But then she simply said, “Ah, I see. I hope you’re having a great day!” and waved them goodbye.

Curious.

“You can head to the gardens,” Emmrich instructed Manfred once they had entered the Great Necropolis, “I will gather some books and shall join you there shortly.”

He watched as Manfred turned towards the gardens and then back to him.

“It’s okay, Manfred. Please, do enjoy yourself.” The skeleton remained in his spot, quietly hissing.

After a moment, Emmrich prompted, “Maybe gather some flowers? For the graves?”

Still, Manfred hovered for a moment longer, empty eye sockets fixed on Emmrich, before he finally walked away.

Curious, indeed.

By the time Emmrich had reached his quarters, he was positively winded. For a couple of long minutes, he stood in his old study, breathing deeply. The stale air, however, did nothing to rejuvenate him. He gathered the books he had been missing and some spare gloves for Manfred. A couple of days ago, Manfred had burnt the fingertips of his left glove while lighting a candle. Emmrich had meant to replace the item sooner, but his responsibilities had kept him from it.

He chose a soft, brown pair that had once belonged to him. When he had been a young apprentice of the Mourn Watch. His first proper pair, in fact. The leather was well-oiled and cared for. He traced the fine lines on its smooth surface with his fingers and allowed himself a short moment of contemplation.

It was unusual, but not entirely unheard of, to dress a skeleton servant in the traditional clothes the Mourn Watch mages wore. Emmrich never had spared it much thought. Some mages just were more sentimental than others. Now, the idea of gifting Manfred his old gloves filled him with a strange sense of pride.

“PROFESSOR,” Vorgoth greeted him as he approached them on his way to the gardens.

“Vorgoth, Myrna,” Emmrich replied, “Good to see you.”

“And you, professor,” Myrna smiled at him, her dark eyes attentive. “We did not expect your presence today.”

“A PLEASANT SURPRISE.”

Emmrich paused as he reached them, slightly out of breath again, “A spur-of-the-moment decision. I needed a few books from my study.”

“Of course,” Myrna shifted slightly in place, “We hope your task is going well.”

“Ah,” he shifted the heavy books in his arms, “I find myself at a rather stagnant point in my research. Hence the additional texts.”

“Can we be of assistance?”

“I am afraid I would not know what to ask of you, presently. But I would be delighted to come back to the offer at a later time.”

“CERTAINLY.”

Myrna nodded, her face pensive.

“Anything else we can do for you?”

“No, thank you. I will collect Manfred; he should be in the gardens.”

Myrna nodded slowly, her gaze still firmly on him.

“THE BELLS,” Vorgoth suddenly said.

“Yes,” Myrna agreed, suspense leaving her body, “We had wanted to write to you later. But since you are here now, professor, we wanted to request your aid in the ceremony.”

Vorgoth clasped his hands before him. “IT IS ALMOST TIME.”

“Of course, I would be honoured. Next week, I believe?”

He found Manfred in a small patch of polygonatum. His ward cradled the delicate white flowers carefully in his hands, quietly hissing to himself.

“Manfred,” Emmrich inspected the small bundle of flowers Manfred had collected in his absence. “Well done, dear boy.”

Together they prepared a small arrangement. He watched as Manfred slowly laid down the flowers on his parent’s grave. The gesture thoughtful and almost tender.

Visiting them was always a whirlwind of emotions for Emmrich. Sadness, for their absence. Gratefulness for their many gifts to him.

As Manfred silently took his place next to him, he took a moment to reflect.

On poor Assan’s injury. On the delicate love he had seen in Davrin this morning as he cared for him. A reflection of Emmrich’s own feelings towards Manfred. He hoped they would be able to spare both Assan and Manfred any further harm.

He thought about Neve, who had lost so much in such a short amount of time. And who still, again and again, got to her feet. She found a way forward no matter how many obstacles were thrown in her way. And on the way Lucanis hovered by her side whenever she would let him. Emmrich had no official way to know how far their relationship had developed, but he had seen the tender way Lucanis cared for Neve.

He would not be shocked to see them confess deeper feelings for each other soon. Same as Harding and Taash, who clearly had found more than common ground between them.

Inevitably, his thoughts wandered to Rook. The way she had sought him out the night before. She had no obligations to inform him of her plans. In fact, in the past she had often left the lighthouse on errands or quests of her own without informing anyone in particular about it beforehand. But then, he mused, he had always been on her side.  Before .

He tried to remember her face in the moment she had informed him about her absence. She had been surprised by his easy acceptance. And relieved. Maybe she had dreaded an argument. Understandably so. Only a day before had he actually argued against his replacement, after all.

But there had been something else there, too.

Something that kept bothering him.

Slowly, with a heavy heart and Manfred in tow, he made his way back to the lighthouse.

Only hours after, in bed, when he was on the brink of sleep, the memory came back to him. Clearer, now.

The emotion he had not been able to name before, so unmistakably written on Rook’s face, even if just for a moment: Disappointment.

Chapter Text

Under different circumstances, he would have gone for a walk. A nice, long, brisk walk. The Necropolis was ideal for such activities. The lighthouse barely provided enough solid ground for a short shuffle. Pacing his balcony had been an outlet on the rare occasions of pent-up frustration. Well, for the two occasions. Emmrich was not prone to outbursts of restless energy.

Three uneasy nights in a row seemed to change this for him. He downed his potion of bitter healing herbs, almost gagging on the taste on an empty stomach.

Manfred gurgled and hissed at him, a steaming cup of tea in his freshly gloved hands.

He reined his frustrations in and made a conscious effort to centre himself. Steady, deep breaths. In through the nose, out through his clenched teeth. Not ideal, but getting irritated with Manfred would change absolutely nothing for the better. Quite the contrary.

“Thank you, Manfred,” he said, eventually. His voice was rough even to his own ears. “I’ll drink it later. Today might be the day I’ll require some coffee.”

Maybe a cup of Lucanis’ brew would chase the fog in his head away.

Manfred pointed to his chest, then to the door. His skull crooked in a way Emmrich recognised as inquisitive.

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll get it myself.”

He left the laboratory, steps heavy. Emmrich had agonised over his nightly revelation for way too long already. So long, in fact, that he was barely even sure about what he had actually seen anymore. It made no sense for her to be disappointed. She had come to him, informed him of her plans, and he had done nothing but reassure her. She had been clearly relieved by the end of their meeting.

And yet…

Surely, it was only in his head. And an utter distraction as well. Under different circumstances, he would make his excuses and take a long, refreshing walk. To clear his head, sort his mind, and get back to his work. His current circumstances, or rather his revolting back, rendered this plan unfeasible.

There was much work to do. Maybe in a day or two… Once his back allowed him to fall back into his habits.

While changing in his robes, he had chanced a glimpse at his back. The mottled haematoma down his back was still egregiously black and blue. But the edges already turned a softer shade of green. His back felt hot and uncomfortable, but that was to be expected. The prolonged time the healing potions took to get rid of them, however, was baffling.

He had tried to summon some healing magic but had only managed to give himself a pounding headache. It was all rather inopportune.

But also temporary. And then, soon, he could return to normality.

Entering the kitchen, he stepped into what seemed to be the tail end of a heated argument between Rook, Lucanis, and Neve. Lucanis, who wore an unusual sour expression, took one look at Emmrich and turned toward the sink.

Rook, her hand buried in her messy hair, sat down heavily. Huffing in frustration.

“Good morning, Emmrich,” Neve said quietly.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

Rook looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“What’s up with your voice?” she asked curtly.

“My… what?” He knew he was staring, probably open-mouthed. He was struggling too hard against his own rising irritation to care much about it.

“Yeah. And while we’re all in each other's business, anyway, what’s up with-“

“Rook,” Lucanis interrupted, voice weary and low, “You’re tired and frustrated. Mierda, so am I. But Emmrich has nothing to do with that.”

She turned away from them, her eyes suddenly glued to the table.

This was unknown territory to Emmrich.

A memory of Harding’s voice resurfaces: ‘You think Rook’s right? About him?’. And just like that, his anger abated. In its stead, he felt drained.

“Maybe I should… leave.” Tea would simply have to suffice. For a fleeting moment he imagined getting back into bed again. Surely this was not how things were supposed to be.

Neve gestured to the empty chair next to her. “No, please. We are all just agitated. Come, sit; we can have breakfast together. Talk it over.”

“I’m making tea,” Lucanis offered. There was already a kettle on the stove, steam rising in the cold air.

“Ah, coffee is fine,” Emmrich said, taking the offered chair between Neve and Rook.

He was aware that all three of them now stared at him.

Rook’s flat “What?” was only barely audible over Lucanis' voice. “Of course, but it’s no issue to brew some tea.”

“Coffee, please,” he confirmed.

“So,” Neve cut through the silence a moment later, voice stiff and apprehensive, “after this outburst, you must be wondering about yesterday’s outing.”

In an effort to soothe his headache, Emmrich rubbed his forehead. “Certainly. I imagine it went poorly?”

Neve shifted in her seat. “Not necessarily.”

By Rook and Lucanis' faces alone, Emmrich had braced himself for anything of the magnitude of another blight outbreak.

“Wasn’t good, either,” Rook muttered. She still had her head down, long hair spilling over her face. Effectively hiding her from the world.

“Rook’s angry! She promised us. Revenge,” another voice said, dark and unmistakably annoyed. Almost Lucanis, but not quite.

Spite.

Emmrich looked up and over at the same moment Lucanis turned around, coffee in hand. Their eyes met.

“Ah,” Lucanis observed, “you’ve heard?”

“Indeed. Hello, Spite.”

“Heard what?” Rook asked, all teeth and sharp edges. Brewing for a fight. “Do I even want to know?”

“It is alright. Please, let it go.” Lucanis’ voice was strained as he filled four mugs with coffee, offering cream and sugar to each of them.

“We met Lucanis’ cousin,” Neve explained. Busying herself with adding a generous amount of sugar to her coffee. “Apparently there is new intel. Caterina is still alive.  If  we believe our source. And being held, somewhere.”

“And we,” Emmrich said, treading carefully around Rook’s sour mood, “do not consider this an improvement over believing her deceased?”

Rook huffed. “I’m just saying I don’t trust… the intel.”

“Him,” Lucanis corrected sharply, “ Illario .”

“Yeah, him,” Rook snapped. “You said it yourself, there’s probably someone working against the Crows.”

With a bang, Lucanis set his mug on the table. Emmrich’s headache flared. He closed his eyes against it.

Slow breaths.

“You have  nothing . No evidence! Not even a real argument,” Lucanis was getting heated, too.

Spite growled somewhere behind Lucanis’ shoulder. “Rook sees. A. Traitor!” Glee dropped from his voice.

Rook muttered something that was lost to Emmrich. His own heartbeat was too loud in his ears.

A cool hand on Emmrich’s arm brought him back to the present. Neve’s dark eyes were soft and sympathetic. He could tell she wanted to say something, and he hoped it would not shift the attention back to him. The tension in the air was terrible enough to witness. To be its focus…

The door behind them sprung open, abruptly ending the quarrel.

“Morning,” Taash said, unaffected by the mood. “We’ve got a dragon to hunt. Anyone wanna come?”

Rook was on her feet in an instant. “Yeah, I want to join. Let’s go. Right now!”

She was already halfway out the door before anyone had recovered.

“Ah,” Taash looked between them, mild confusion on their face. “Well. Alright, then.”

In the wake of Rook’s departure, Emmrich tried to salvage his composure. He had never done well with flaring tempers. The Mourn Watch was a very orderly place. And although the occasional argument or discussion happened, it rarely ever escalated beyond a heated debate. Besides, it was almost exclusively work related. He could not remember the last time he had fought over something personal.  Not since Johanna had left, anyway.

Among his colleagues, he was known as a mellow, agreeable mage. Of course, he was only human. Sometimes emotions boiled over. But they hadn’t in a long time. And he felt particularly thin today. Wholly unwilling to deal with it.

Next to him Neve looked crestfallen.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into that. Both of you,” Lucanis said. His voice was thick with emotions. He hunched over his own coffee, face drawn tight. His pain was obvious.

“Illario is  family . He’s my  cousin . Rook does not understand.”

Neither do I , Emmrich, who had grown up an only child and orphan, thought.

###

He made it halfway through ‘The First Blight - and its Role of Paradoxical Fade-Energy in Applied Magic’ before he was back pacing the limited space of the laboratory. Emmrich stood on his balcony, overlooking the endless void surrounding their sanctuary. The fade above him was a stormy blue, almost greyish in colour. A few wisps danced not too far overhead. He wondered what this place once had looked like. The lighthouse was a striking building. Its magic waxing and waning in an endless play. Sometimes reverberating in its pure strength, other times almost nothing more than a tender touch in the air. Had this building once stood on a stormy coast? A landmark in the real world, now forever pulled through the veil? Or had it been built within the fade, its only purpose to shelter an impossible rebellion?

Either way, Emmrich thought,  it was a remarkable feast. As a man, Emmrich did not approve of Solas’ schemes. As a mage, he admired the ingenuity.

Below, a door opened, and Manfred stopped in his cluttering. The spirit hissed, noticeably delighted.

“Hello, Fred!”

Ah, Neve . No wonder Manfred was pleased. The spirit adored Neve.

“Neve, welcome,” Emmrich greeted.

She met him at the top of the stairs, smiling.

“I bear presents,” she said, waving a bottle of wine in one hand and two matching wine glasses in the other. “And a request, if you are not too busy.”

“Never, my dear. Please, take a seat.” He gestured towards the chairs.

She sat down, her dark eyes on the dancing wisps, while he opened the wine. A rich antivan port.

“Where did you find the glasses?” Emmrich asked as he admired the delicate craftsmanship.

“Oh, Lucanis did,” she explained.

“In the pantry?”

“No,” Neve laughed, “on the market. Yesterday, in fact. Our assassin is under the impression the current assortment of glassware was not to your satisfaction.”

He paused, perplexed.

“Lucanis bought wine glasses for me?”

There was an impossible gentle smile on Neve’s face. “Don’t worry. He got something for all of us. I thought I’d spoil your surprise a bit early, tho.”

“That is,” Emmrich tried to find a word that matched the affectionate feeling in his chest, “very considerate of him. I’ll need to remember to thank him later.”

“I’m sure you will,” Neve raised her glass in a mock toast.

“This favour of yours, does it require me to get drunk first?”

“Only if you think your magic would benefit from it. It’s a case.”

Neve was not only the most wonderful company, she also had excellent taste in wine.

The port was sweet like toffee, with an underlining flavour of roasted nuts and warm spices, and a lingering sense of smoked cedar wood.

She told him about her case. A rediscovered skull of a departed Shadow Dragon and the murder mystery surrounding it. Afterwards she enquired after his recent studies, and he was pleased when she asked for more and more details.

The fade dimmed around the lighthouse, and they moved downstairs in front of the fireplace. Manfred won Neve’s favour once more when he returned from the kitchen, a tray of fruits and cheese as well as a second bottle of wine in hand.

“You know,” Neve’s voice was unusually reserved as she picked at a piece of fruit. “I had thought today would be a total loss. After what happened at breakfast.”

Emmrich sympathised. “Ah, I can see why.”

“It’s understandable, isn’t it? Lucanis is worried about his family. And pissed, because he knows someone betrayed them. It is the only logical conclusion. He just couldn’t hear it from Rook.”

That made sense, he supposed. “It is one thing to know the truth and another to hear it spoken from someone else.”

Neve nodded, “Especially someone so blunt as Rook.”

The wine made Emmrich brave. Or maybe it was her company. “Rook can be very forthcoming at times.”

“That is one way to say it.” Neve leaned forward in her chair, her eyes sparkling in the gloomy darkness.

“She cares , Emmrich. Very much so.”

Oh, he knew . Rook always had their backs in a fight, forever defending each and every one of them from harm. Supportive and kind.

“I’m sure they will reconcile,” he agreed, “once they’ve had time to compose themselves.”

Neve paused. There was a very fond expression on her face, one eyebrow raised. She looked…amused. Like she was part of a pleasantry he was not privy to.

“Yes,” she said, and the moment passed. “I’m sure they will.”

###

Emmrich nursed the remnants of the wine long into the evening, even after Neve had withdrawn.

The drink had succeeded where the potions had not. The steady ache in his back was dull and far away. As were his most pressing worries. He was tired, but not as drained as the days before. Just ready to sleep.

He bid Manfred good night and crawled in his bed. Atop his comforter, face buried in his pillow.

It was still dark. Emmrich did not know how long he had slept for. There was a noise that lured him from sleep, but only barely. A hissing sound he knew, but his tired mind struggled to put a name to.

“Hey, Manfred,” someone whispered into the darkness. “I’m just checking in on your—on Emmrich.”

Oh, it’s just Rook and Manfred. Nothing to worry about. He relaxed.

“Oh, Emmrich, ” Rook said, voice low and affectionate. A warm hand on his shoulder, a gentle pressure. Just for a moment, before she pulled away. He missed her instantly.

But not for long. A moment later she returned to his side. He blinked into the darkness as she tugged a blanket around him.

“What—“

“Shhh. Sleep, Emmrich,” Rook whispered as she stroked her fingers through his hair, and it was easy to give into his drowsiness like this. “It’s late. Get some rest.”

Chapter Text

He really needed to do his laundry. Emmrich sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his laundry basket. Soon enough he would run out of robes. Especially since the fade had decided to turn itself into a tropical climate overnight. He had only dressed himself, and he was already sweating. And dreadfully so.

The rattling of a teacup on a saucer announced Manfred. A moment later the skeleton turned the corner. He hissed happily at Emmrich, hands outstretched.

“Thank you, my boy,” Emmrich rasped. He would’ve preferred something cold, but the hot tea would probably soothe his throat better. And maybe benefit his headache.

Should not have opened that second bottle of wine.

Emmrich wondered if Neve suffered the same crude fate in her room.

Laundry can wait,  he decided. The thought alone felt exhausting.

Evidently, Manfred had decided to clean his desk sometime in the night. Emmrich stood before it, wondering where his books and notes had ended up. He really needed to teach Manfred a better cleaning system.

But maybe not today.

Manfred hissed inquisitively, and Emmrich contemplated if it was worth the energy to try and find his books today.

Maybe, he reasoned,  they will just find their way back to me later. Maybe Manfred would just return the items. A pipe dream, if he’d ever had one. So what?

“Manfred,” he turned toward his ward, “would you care to go outside with me?”

If the hissing and rapid arm waving were anything to go by, Manfred liked that idea particularly well.

Manfred’s joy was always contagious. Emmrich found himself outside the lighthouse’s main building, watching as Manfred chased a couple of wisps. He could not help but smile at the display of unblemished delight.

The sound of heavy wings, accompanied by chirping, announced Assan. The griffon dropped from the sky, joining Manfred’s game.

“Good morning, Emmrich,” Davrin greeted as he joined him at the edge of the yard. The young warden was dressed in soft, well-worn clothes. A content smile on his face; he looked relaxed.

“Davrin,” Emmrich said. “It’s good to see Assan out and about.”

“Yeah,” Davrin agreed. “Didn’t know I would miss his silly attitude this much. He’s still limping a bit. But mostly around his treats.”

Emmrich laughed at that. Before he could continue the conversation, however, the itch in his throat caught, turning into a hacking cough.

It only lasted a few seconds, but he felt winded and dizzy afterwards.

“You okay?”

“Yes, yes. No reason to worry. I am just slightly off-centred this morning.”

Davrin looked like he very much doubted that. He hummed thoughtfully.

“Maybe a cold; it is pretty chilly around here.”

Emmrich cleared his throat. The sky overhead had cleared into an icy blue, as if to emphasise Davrin’s theory.

Nonsense, Emmrich wanted to argue.  I have not been sick in years. Besides, it’s much too warm-

Oh. Maybe Davrin had a point.

“Emmrich,” Davrin interrupted his thoughts, voice casual. “I think I’ll stay here a bit. Assan seems to enjoy himself. If you are busy, I could watch Manfred for you.”

Emmrich felt drained. He had only been up and about for an hour, but he could not deny how badly he wanted to lay down again.

“I would appreciate that very much.”

###

Emmrich could not remember when he last took a nap in his life. Or if he had ever taken one at all. He woke, sweating, dizzy and disorientated. A horrendous taste in his mouth. Not sure what had woken him. Or what day it was.

Lucanis loudly cleared his throat. “Emmrich?” he asked. Something in his tone made Emmrich suspect it was not the first attempt at waking him.

“Yes,” he sat up as Lucanis came into view, “Lucanis?”

Lucanis greeted him with a nod and a bowl of hot soup.

“Heard Davrin mentioned you were feeling under the weather,” he said as he offered the bowl. It smelt delicious.

“And you made me soup?”

“Of course! It is an old family recipe.” Lucanis leaned forward. “Passed on from generation to generation. Secret ingredients, even. Very effective.”

“It does smell like garlic.”

“He. Found. OUT! ” Spite snickered.

Lucanis snorted, “There goes the secret. It is almost exclusively garlic.”

The creamy soup was surprisingly mellow, the garlic pungent but slightly sweet. He tasted onion, thyme, black pepper and -

“Alcohol would not be part of the secret ingredients, would it?”

“Good catch,” Lucanis had pulled a stray chair closer to the bed. “Sherry.”

“It’s delicious, thank you.”

Lucanis seemed pleased. But also fretful. He was fidgeting with his cape, looking around the laboratory. His eyes not lingering on anything in particular.

“I do not mean to sound ungrateful,” Emmrich said slowly, “for either the soup nor your company. But I cannot help but wonder-“

“Why am I here?”

“Well,” he watched Lucanis wringing his hands, while Spite muttered quietly to himself. “Lucanis, what is the matter?”

Lucanis took a deep breath, and Emmrich felt worry bloom inside his chest.

“The Crows send word. Zara is in Treviso.”

“The woman behind-“

“Caterina’s disappearance,” Lucanis’ voice was harsh, and he took another deep breath. Then, quieter, he added, “and me, being… an abomination.”

Spite growled.

“Lucanis.” Emmrich aimed for a soft tone. “I can only imagine what it must be like for you. But I do have a certain expertise with demons. And you are not one. You are still human. Despite everything, you're still yourself. Zara did not take this from you. Nobody can. And now we all stand by your side.”

Lucanis looked up at him, his face blank mask. But his eye were suspiciously wet.

“We will find a way forward. For both of you.”

Spite hissed, “Promise! ”

Lucanis sounded pained when he said, “Spite.”

“It’s okay, Lucanis. I promise, Spite. And I imagine Rook would say something similar.”

Lucanis laughed wetly. “She already did. Thank you, Emmrich.”

“Rook’s. My. Favourite! ”

Emmrich couldn’t help himself but smile. Spite’s enthusiasm for Rook was sweet, in a way.

“When will you leave? For Treviso.”

“In an hour.”

###

Emmrich handed the green plant to Manfred.

“Elfroot,” he explained, “it is named after the first Elves in Arlathan, who would use it before the Imperium. This, specifically, is Royal Elfroot. It is a healing plant.”

Manfred carefully ran his hands over the stem and the soft leaves.

“You can identify it by the heart-shaped leaves. The juice of the root can be directly applied to wounds. As a field medicine. We use it for portions, mainly.”

He paused to give Manfred time to think this over. He knew the spirit was as attentive a student as Emmrich ever had the pleasure to teach. But he also retained wisdom differently from humans. Manfred learnt best on his own time in a quiet setting. With compassion and patience. And he had come to recognise questions or signs of understanding in Manfred’s body language as much as in his limited vocal range.

Not for the first time, Emmrich wished he could teach Manfred his language. He was curious what Manfred thought of their lessons, their company. The world he had been pulled into.

They were seated in the main structure of the lighthouse. Emmrich had brought an assortment of herbs he wanted Manfred to familiarise himself with. The spirit did well enough with different herbs when it came to teas, so Emmrich hoped this would be an easy lesson for his ward.

So far, it went well enough. Manfred listened with rapt attention to every word and inspected each plant carefully. If he had truly grasped the different uses and applications, that was a different question. One, Emmrich knew, that would answer itself eventually. He was prepared to teach Manfred as often as he needed to understand.

“Oh, hey,” Harding greeted as she entered the building. “What are you guys doing?”

Manfred hissed happily, and showed the elfroot he was holding.

“We are learning about helpful plants Manfred might encounter,” Emmrich explained. “Mostly healing herbs, so far. Hence the elfroot.”

“I know my herbs,” Harding sounded excited. “Can I join?”

“Of course. It would be our pleasure.”

She took a seat next to Manfred and admired the little plant he was holding out for her. It was heartwarming how Harding acknowledged Manfred’s efforts. The easy acceptance Manfred had found among this group.

He worried often about what would become of Manfred if Emmrich were to... if he ever had to leave Manfred. And while Harding was not the most likely person to take Manfred in, should Emmrich be unable to care for him, it was one additional connection Manfred had to this world.

“I know this one,” Harding pointed out a small herb with delicate white flowers. “Andraste’s Mantle. It’s an antidote for wyvern poison.”

“Very good,” Emmrich complimented. He traded Manfred the new flower for the elfroot.

“I heard you were feeling sick,” Harding said after a moment. Her voice forcefully neutral. In a way that made it clear that she had been sitting on the question for a while. Eager to find an opportune moment to ask.

“A mere cold,” Emmrich said, “nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe I can grow you some herbs for your teas!” She offered, her eyes sincere when she looked up.

Recently, Harding and his companionship had been a bit strained. Emmrich knew the former scout had her difficulties with his trade, although she was more open-minded about the dead than most of her countrymen. Surprisingly enough, it had been Rook’s interest in him that had seemingly thrown Harding off the most.

She cared about Rook, he knew. Between all of them, she knew Rook the longest. Certainly much longer than Emmrich himself. Emmrich wondered if Harding felt some sort of responsibility for Rook. Perhaps since Varric…

He understood the offer for what it was: an olive branch.

“I would be grateful.”

To his surprise, Harding stayed and taught Manfred the rest of the herbs. Between them, they had quite a vast knowledge of natural healing remedies.

When the lessons ended, Manfred stayed in his spot, playing with a cut of crystal glace. The pale blue flower almost glowed in the darkening evening.

“Do you think they will come home soon?” Harding asked into the stillness. Her voice uncharacteristically meek.

Emmrich hummed. “I am sure they will return as soon as the business in Treviso is concluded.”

“Are you,” Harding moved in her spot, fidgeting with a pillow before she continued, “well, worried?”

The news from the Crows had been obviously hard on Lucanis. And Emmrich was not surprised about it. Their feared assassin was astonishingly compassionate and kind. Close to his family. Losing his grandmother, atop the trauma of his imprisonment and forced bonding with Spite… it was understandable that he struggled.

“I suppose I am,” Emmrich acknowledged. “For Lucanis. How the most recent events will affect him. He had much to deal with. As did Neve and Davrin.”

And you and Rook , he did not add. Harding nodded, the weight on her shoulders for once most apparent. He did not feel it was the right time to bring her pain into the conversation.

She sighed, her fists tight around the pillow.

“Me too,” she said, her voice hushed and small. A stark contrast to the spirited young dwarf he had come to know.

She’s looking for assurance,  he realised.

“It’s a good thing Rook is with him. She’ll support him. And Bellara will make sure they all return to us.” He believed it, too.

Harding took a single, deep breath before she straightened her back.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, Emmrich. That… helped.”

Chapter Text

“EMMRICH!!”

He jumped so hard he threw his book. Manfred dodged the thick volume, hissing after him in confusion. For once, it went unheard.

Emmrich was already halfway down the stairs, his heart beating hard.

Rook!

He burst into the corridor that connected his room to the main area as Rook called for him a second time. Her voice cracked and echoed in the empty space.

It was late – the middle of the night. The fade was a deep indigo, but true to its name, the lighthouse was never truly without light. Above them, magic danced in the darkness. Illuminating the space in moving shades of blues and greens.

He met them on the ground floor. In hindsight he did not know what he had expected to see. But whatever it had been, the reality was worse.

Blood. He had never seen this much blood.

All three of them were covered in it. Head to toe.

Lucanis and Rook were on either side of Bellara; each one had one of her arms slung over their shoulders. Lucanis, who had to stoop awkwardly to accommodate for their height difference, had his eyes fixed on the ground. He could not see Bellara’s face. But Rook met his eyes.

Hurrying over, he could tell it was not fresh blood. Rook’s face was streaked with it, and she must have made an effort to wipe some of it off, especially around her eyes and mouth. It hid the vallaslin on her forehead and part of her nose, but not her chin. When they made eye contact, her eyes were bright and alert. So close, he saw the ghost of a relieved smile on her face.

Somewhere to his left a door opened. Heavy footsteps were approaching.

“Emmrich,” her voice wavered a bit on his name. “Please, help. Bellara’s been hurt.”

There was such open trust in her, in the way she sought him out in times of crisis. Under his shock, there was a pang of fondness. It brought him out of his stupor. “Of course.”

Taash appeared at his side, a heavy frown on their face.

“Let me,” they said, bending down to pick Bellara’s slim form up. “It’s faster this way.”

Bellara was limp in their arms. But he could see that she was breathing.

“Thank you, Taash.” Rook murmured at the same moment Emmrich said, “To the infirmary.”

“That’s a whole lot of blood, Rook,” Harding observed as she joined them. She was at Rook’s elbow, worry on her face.

“Not ours,” Rook said, her voice still rough and wavering, “mostly.”

“Tell me where you are hurt,” Emmrich demanded.

As he took a few steps after Taash, he gestured for the others to follow.

Rook followed him easily and made a few steps in his direction. Lucanis, however, stayed frozen in his place. Rook faltered. Her face unsure.

“Lucanis?” Harding’s voice was quiet and full of concern.

The same concern that was steadily rising in Emmrich. Lucanis was no stranger to gore. Per his job description alone, he was used to blood. His detached demeanour was worrisome.

Shock? , Emmrich wondered.

He carefully reached for Lucanis, wary of startling the assassin. Rook was faster.

Before he could touch Lucanis, Rook grabbed for Emmrich’s wrist. Her fingers frightfully cold on his skin but strong enough to bruise.

“He’s okay,” her voice was tight, “please, look after Bellara.”

###

Taash had laid Bellara down on one of the beds in the infirmary. Now they stood awkwardly to the side, their eyes roaming Bellara’s bloodied face and clothes.

They looked up as Emmrich entered.

“The others?”

“They will join us shortly,” Emmrich said as he crossed the room, not knowing if it was true. “How is Bellara doing?”

Taash looked unusually small as they answered, “Dunno.”

As Emmrich leaned over Bellara, he could see that her eyes were open. She sluggishly blinked up at the ceiling. He could already tell she was not fully with them.

A head wound?

“Bellara,” he carefully laid one hand against her cheek. “Can you hear me?”

He pressed two fingers against her neck. Her pulse was strong, if a bit quicker than he liked. A moment later she hummed in response to him.

Emmrich kept his voice as even as he could. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

She blinked at him before she closed her eyes, brow furrowed.

“Head.” Her voice was thin. Quiet in a way Bellara never was.

“Okay. Are you feeling any nausea? Dizziness?” Her hair was a mess. Blood and dirt stuck in it. He started to untangle her locks.

“Taash?” He would need to clean her up in order to evaluate the damage.

“Here.”

“Could you find some warm water and towels for us?”

“’Course.”

By the time Taash returned with a basin of water and some towels he had found the offending injury. A laceration on the side of her head that still sluggishly bled.

Bellara’s breath hitched as he tended to the cut. He gently shushed her, summoning healing magic to his hands. She quieted as the spell numbed her pain.

Behind him the door opened.

“Where are Rook and Lucanis?” Taash asked.

Emmrich chanced a quick glance over his shoulder. Indeed, Harding was alone.

“Neve’s looking after Lucanis. He wouldn’t come with us,” Harding explained.

“And Rook?” Emmrich did not need to see Harding jump to know his tone was much harsher than what he usually used with them.

“Preparing for a bath. She said-“ Irritation flared in Emmrich. He knew what Rook had said. The same thing she perpetually said after every battle.

“Rook  always  insists she’s fine. I want you to stay with her. Call me if she is anything but fine. And tell her to come here afterwards.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Harding and Taash glanced at each other before Harding turned to leave.

“Harding,” she stopped in her steps, looking back at him. “Stay in the bathroom with her. She is not to be left alone until I see that she is, indeed, fine.”

Harding sighed but thankfully did not argue.

He laid a cool towel across Bellara’s brow. All of her wounds had been cared for. The head wound the worst offender. But she had a few other cuts and bruises and would probably feel sore for a bit. However, she would heal and live.

She was asleep now, cleaned up and in fresh, soft clothes.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Emmrich sat down and took a moment to himself. Neither Harding nor Rook had come back to the infirmary. The logical part of him knew it was a most likely good sign. Rook had probably cleaned herself up and was, in fact, unharmed. The tired, emotional part of him was infuriated. She knew he worried. She was the leader, but he had established himself as their healer.

Naturally, he would seek her out. He had to check her over for injuries. Ascertain what had happened in Treviso. If it had any implications for their goals regarding the elven gods going forward.

Is it already passed dawn? He was bone-tired exhausted. And that was an awfully long list of things to do.

Emmrich buried his face in his hands. Breathing in and out in calming patterns he had learnt as a young boy under the tutelage of the Mourn Watch. After the sudden death of his parents, young Emmrich had suffered from terrible anxiety attacks. He had been most timid by nature. And the world had been an utterly overwhelming place. But always one of the mages would sit with him, breathe with him, until the terrible tightness in his chest had subsided.

It had always helped before. He felt pleased when it did not fail him now. His irritation with Rook simmered down. If he was tired, she must have been exhausted. Whatever fight had taken place, it had certainly taken its toll on poor Bellara. He was confident Harding would not have left Rook if she was in any trouble. Maybe Rook had simply fallen asleep somewhere.

Still, I should check on her.

###

He got up and left the infirmary.

Maybe he would start in her room. Or the kitchen? Maybe-

Emmrich stopped so suddenly in his tracks, he almost stumbled over his own feet. On the floor, just behind the door, sat Rook.

And she was not alone, either. Davrin was next to her, Assan’s head on his lap.

“Emmrich!” Rook smiled up at him. She had indeed cleaned up and changed into the colourful Dalish garments she preferred around the lighthouse. For once she had her hair down, soft curls flowing over her shoulders.

“How’s Bellara?” Davrin asked as he got to his feet. Assan stretched lazily.

“Asleep. She should be fine in a few hours.  But ,” he empathised, “I must insist that she rests longer than that.”

Rook visibly relaxed. “Thank you, Emmrich.” She reached out for him, a comforting pressure against his arm.

“Emmrich-“

“Rook-“ they both stopped, but she gestured for him to continue.

“Did you get hurt?” He asked the most pressing question first. No point beating around the bush.

She shook her head no. “And Harding can attest to that. She literally had my back in the bath. At your request, I hear.” She smirked at him.

Oh , Emmrich felt a bit flustered at that.

“It’s fine,” Rook amended, “I really appreciated the help. I think I washed my hair for an hour straight.” She sounded forcefully chipper, but her face was pinched. Her eyebrows drawn together.

“What happened? In Treviso.”

“Oh. We um,” Rook fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “We found Zara. It kinda went downhill from there. Fast.”

“You fought? And the,” he gestured vaguely, “the blood?”

“Yeah. We fought. We actually won, too. She had a… a pool of blood.”

A what.  The confusion must have shown on his face because Rook went on.

“Not a pool – pool. It wasn’t that deep or anything. Luckily for me, I guess.” She laughed breathlessly, without much humour in it, before she sobered up again. “But like… an obscene amount of blood. Disturbing, really.” She took a deep breath and bulldozed on before Emmrich could even think of anything to say.

“She was a real piece of work. Went after me and Bellara to torture Lucanis. That’s how Bellara got hurt. Lucanis was very upset. And…” She broke off, a lost look on her face, eyes on the floor.

“It’s kind of a long story,” Davrin noted, his tone sombre. She must have filled him in already.

Rook nodded, “Yeah, it’s a lot. Maybe I can tell you after we've both caught up on sleep?”

“Sleep? Bellara-“

“Davrin can sit with her.” Rook didn’t let him get a word in.

Davrin squared his shoulders a bit as he nodded. “Sure. Yeah, I can do that.”

Rook took his arm and steered him down the corridor, past her own door. Towards the laboratory. While the infirmary had no windows, out here he could tell it was almost dawn. He had already slept away half the day. Emmrich felt restless. Itching for more work.

“I think,” Emmrich said, glancing down at Rook, “it’s almost time for breakfast.”

“Right. Are you hungry?”

No, not particularly, he thought. But Rook had been out the whole day and had only returned to them a few short hours earlier. He doubted she had taken the time to eat.

She must be starving.

“We should head to the kitchen.”

There was a soft draft in the kitchen, somewhere overhead. Emmrich had never noticed before. But then, the kitchen had never been this eerily silent before either.

Emmrich had brewed peppermint and ginger tea. Their breakfast was a simple porridge Rook had prepared. She had cooked it over the stove until it was soft. Honey and cinnamon, alongside a small variety of fruits, provided a sweet contrast to the tea.

He ate without much appetite as the last hours slowly caught up to him. Opposite him, Rook fought against sleep. She had eagerly devoured her food and now snoozed with half-opened eyes. All thoughts of questioning her further had left him. She was clearly worn out and needed rest.

“Rook,” he kept his voice quiet in fear of startling her. She hummed tiredly.

“Let’s get you to bed. You should rest.”

She looked up, her dark curls contrasting her amber eyes; her face soft with sleep.

“Only,” she murmured as she stood up, “if you go to bed, too.”

“I assure you, I’ve had plenty of rest over the last couple of days.” Emmrich surprised himself with how resentful he felt about that fact.

Rook halted in her effort to clean the table.

“I know,” she said, the words falling from her lips like a confession of guilt. But before he could look, she had turned away from him. Ending their conversation. At least, temporarily.

The quiet sound of sloshing water and clanking silverware filled this new silence between them.

“I’m sorry,” her voice was so hushed he almost missed it.

“Whatever for?”

“For leaving you behind.” Cold hands reached for his heart. Astonishment glued his tongue in its place. Confusing, disbelief and the raising feeling of indignation. He struggled with his emotions while Rook – blessedly unaware of his struggle or maybe just uncaring – ventured on.

“It was never my intention to make you feel like this.” She gestured loosely in his direction. “I thought I… well, I tried to do the right thing. The thing a real leader would do, you know? It’s just. I don’t know. Lately, everything I touch just,” whatever steam her outburst had run on had apparently been short-lived. She sighed and shook her head.

“Well, let’s say everything I have a say in goes to hell in a handbasket.”

This isn’t about me or us, he realised.  Not really.

“Rook,” Emmrich pushed his emotions down. “You are forced into a position of immense pressure. And impossible decisions. Some of whom are, presumably, doomed to fail from the start.” He looked up and finally caught Rook’s eye again. It was alien to see her like this: vulnerable and doubtful instead of indomitable. On the battlefield, Rook was a force of nature. When it came to the hard decisions, he always admired her level-headed approach.

She was steadfast and kind, aloof yet not cold, soft but not weak, spontaneous without being hot-tempered.

At least, most of the time, he reminded himself. Just a short while ago she had been in a heated argument with Lucanis and Neve and … himself. In a way.

“You’re probably right.” Rook relented, but he could tell her heart was not in it. “I just don’t know how to do it. Not like-“ Her voice wavered, and she cut herself off suddenly.

Varric, Emmrich thought suddenly. Not like Varric  was what she had wanted to say.

Oh, Rook. She was clearly still grieving what had happened at the ritual site.

Grief was something Emmrich was intimately familiar with. He knew this pain. And his heart broke for her.

“Rook,” he offered, “if there is anything I can do. Anything you need. Please, just say the word.”

There was a moment of silence between them. Of quiet contemplation. And for a second he hoped she would open up to him, release herself of some of her burdens. But then she took a steady breath and straightened her back, and Emmrich knew she had closed that door again. As a Mourn Watcher, he knew he could not compel her to face her feelings. But as a friend, as someone who had grieved his whole life, he wished for her to be free of this affliction.

“I’m just really tired,” Rook’s voice was steady again. “Please, I would rest easier if I knew you were resting, too. At least a nap.”

He did not possess the strength to deny her such a simple request.

###

It was dark and cold. Above, a ceiling so high no light ever illuminated it. The stone below his feet ancient. The Grand Necropolis was filled with endless hallways and winding paths. He hurried past a series of doors, all of them imposingly massive. All of them closed.

One of the most intriguing features of the Grand Necropolis was the fact that it reshaped itself constantly. Emmrich often mused that one person might spend all of their life in it and could still somehow find new paths. He loved strolling the corridors in his spare time. And regularly indulged himself in doing so.

He was dimly aware that he had not done so in quite some time. Yet the reason behind that eluded him right now.

It was inconsequential anyway. An unknown purpose pulled him forward. There was somewhere he had to be – something important he had to do.

His footsteps echoed endlessly into the darkness around him. He was alone, he knew. But someone else had been with him. He could almost remember a face… but that, as well, eluded him.

He was not aware how much time had passed when he finally reached an open door. Light was flooding from it, but it was all wrong. Dull and red. There was a thin layer of fog in the area between Emmrich and the door. The light coloured it crimson.

He knew he had to enter to continue his way. He feared whatever lay beyond it.

Emmrich swallowed thickly as he stepped over the threshold.

The room he stepped into was covered in a blanket of fog, endlessly stretching to all sides. Another step forward. Was that splashing under his feet?

He looked down and froze in horror.

The floor was covered in blood. It was dark. Much darker than fresh blood would have been. But uncoagulated. It flowed sluggishly around his boots.

Forward.  He had to go on, even if he could not understand why. There was a string around his heart, and it pulled him onwards.

At first, the blood hardly slowed him down. The mere depth of a puddle. He stepped easily into it. But only a few metres out, it got deeper. One moment it was up to his ankles; the next it was halfway up his shins.

Disgust turned his stomach. He was no stranger to blood, but this amount should have been impossible.

Forward. He had to move on.

Now, he waded into it. Up to his hips. It was warm and stained his clothes. His hands. He looked down, and blood dripped from his fingertips. Whose blood was it? Why was it here? And why would it latch onto him?

Emmrich could not remember why he had come here.

There was a shadow ahead. Something in the blood. Fixed in place but not quite motionless. A growing sense of dread crept up on him. He was reluctant to move on and yet uneasy to linger.

As he moved closer, he could see what it was.

Who it was.

Bellara.

No. This was wrong. She should not – could not – be here.

Her eyes were open but unseeing. Dead. Her hair and clothes soaked in crimson.

His hands shook as he reached out for her. Dread pooled in his stomach. He was apprehensive to lay a hand on her but needed to touch her all the same. To feel if life had truly left her. Despite what he saw. Or maybe because of it.

But just as he was about to grasp her hand, a current moved her away. Out of reach. Pulling her down.

Emmrich breathed hard against the oncoming panic. Pure, sweet Bellara. Who had so much vitality , so much passion  in her. Who needed to see, explore and experience so much more.

Now that he was aware of the shadows around him, he could see other shapes. A flowing cape caught his eyes for a moment. Lucanis.

Further away, a smaller frame. Harding.

He closed his eyes. Unwilling to see more of his companions among this sea of death.

“Emmrich.”

Something tugged at him. A voice he had come to cherish. Amber eyes and dark curls.

She pulled him forward. He was forever caught in her gravity.

No, she was not here. She was not… She could not be…

This is wrong.

He steeled himself as best he could. And opened his eyes.

Rook looked peaceful. The blood covered her hair and her colourful clothes. But it had not touched her face. The lines of her tattoos were clearly visible, even in the dark on her copper skin.

Her eyes were closed and her face relaxed.

No. No, no, no. Tears burnt behind his eyes, his heart painfully fast in his chest.

He reached out, and she, too, sank away from him.

She is afraid of drowning.

“Rook!”

Emmrich leaped forward. Uncaring of what would happen to himself. The warm liquid splashed his face and hair, covering him completely. And yet he reached out, grabbed at her. And caught her hand.

For a singular moment Emmrich felt victorious. Her hand was warm in his. She would not drown. Could not sink into the darkness to be forgotten.

Then, the ground beneath his feet fell away, and it was him who was drowning.

He struggled as best as he could. The darkness swallowed him, and he forgot which way was up and which was down. Panic choked him.

Through all of it, he held on to Rook’s hand.

“Emmrich.”

Implausible as it was, but she called to him. Emmrich realised his eyes were closed only when he tried to look for her.

It was gloomy down here. But there was light, too. Above him, Rook. And beyond Rook, a faint light.

Her face was half hidden in shadows. But her eyes. Her eyes were open. And fixed on him.

“Emmrich. It’s okay.”

He could not talk – they were underwater. She could not talk – she was dead. And yet…

“Come on, take a breath,” her voice was steady and kind. But something else wavered underneath.

“Please,” she said, and this time he could name the emotion behind it, “just come back to me.” Desperation.

She dragged her hand through the dark water and reached for him.

“Emmrich,” she repeated. “Look at me.”

He did, and it broke his heart.

There was a soft smile on her face. And slight frown on her brow. Concern directed at him.

“You’re dead,” he choked out thickly.

“No, Emmrich. It’s okay.”

He could feel her hand on him, cold fingers on his cheek. Her thumb under his eye. She wiped a tear away. Then another one.

“Rook,” his voice broke over itself, and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes.

“Stay,” Rook demanded and moved her hand against his forehead. A soft pressure against his raging headache. “Stay with me, now. Look at me.”

It was too confusing. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his racing heart.

“Eyes on me.” She put all her authority in it. The voice she had used against the First Warden.

He obeyed and blinked. Vertigo hit him.

Emmrich was on his back, not drowning in blood or floating underwater. A dull gloom around him. He could see the ceiling spinning above. And right in front of him, a heavy frown on her face, was Rook.

###

“That was pretty intense,” she said, her hand still on his forehead. “You’re back with me?”

“Rook?” He tried to make sense of what had just happened, but even now the memory was fading. Something about the Necropolis and some sort of … pool?

“The one and only,” was all the confirmation he received. “Do you know where you are?”

He blearily looked around. Everything was foggy and distorted by the moving shadows around them. But it was unmistakably the lighthouse. He could see his own stacks of books and scrolls.

“Laboratory,” he answered, voice rough and his heart still racing in his chest.

“Yeah.” She smiled and squeezed his hand, which rested in hers. “You’ve got quite the fever.”

His mouth felt like something had crawled in it and died there. “What happened?”

“You had a nightmare. A pretty scary one, I think. Took you a bit to come out of it.”

That… probably made sense. It just did not feel like it made sense.

“I’m sorry.” It hurt to speak, but he could not help himself.

Rook hummed. “Don’t be; it’s not your fault.”

She turned slightly away from him, towards something behind her. “He’s awake now. Could you bring us some water?”

There was some hissing and shuffling and the noise of footsteps hurrying away. Manfred.

“How long…?” He trailed off, unsure what he was asking.

“We went to bed maybe three hours ago? Manfred got me… I think around ten or fifteen minutes ago. Seems longer than that, tho.”

She stroked her fingers through his hair in a soothing gesture. He was dimly aware that they were still holding hands. Her smaller, rough finger gentle against his own. Her touch was affectionate and tranquil. The proper thing, the thing he should do, was to pull away. Sit up and sort himself out. The fog in his head, however, pulled him down. Likewise, Rook seemed in no hurry to pull away from him.

Soon enough, Manfred returned with a glass of water. He hissed and gurgled at Emmrich in a great display of concern.

“Thanks, Manfred,” Rook said as she took the water from him before he could spill any. “That’ll help. Well done.”

The skeleton calmed under her reassurance.

She helped him to sit up. A feat more difficult than he could have imagined. The room was spinning awfully around him. He was grateful for Rook, who held on to his shoulder.

The glass was handed to him. It trembled between his hands, and it was again Rook’s steady hands which prevented any accidents.

“Lay back down,” Rook suggested afterwards. “You need to rest.”

He was reluctant to do so. The nightmare was still close. If he closed his eyes now, he feared whatever would come for him. But Rook would not yield. She pushed against his shoulder until he was forced to lie down. Then she tucked his blanket around him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you. Promise, I’ll be here when you need me.”

Chapter Text

The fade around them slowly woke. Dark blue indigo morphed into shades of azure, which turned into light aquamarine. The earthy aroma of black tea wafted through the small space Emmrich’s bed occupied as Manfred brewed cup after cup. As it turned out, the skeleton was truly shaping himself after Emmrich. A carer. Nurturing. And, most certainly, a worrier.

The rattle of delicate porcelain announced Manfred. A moment later, the little skeleton appeared at Rook’s side.

“Thank you,” Rook accepted the third cup of tea in a row. She took a sip of the tea, Lady Grey with a hint of lemon and sugar. She recognised the tea by its smell as the one Emmrich often enjoyed in the early afternoon over his books. It left a pleasant aftertaste of bergamot, orange peel and cornflowers. Dark, but sweet and floral. So indisputable Emmrich.

Next to her, Manfred poked at Emmrich’s arm. When he got no reaction, he hissed sadly to himself. She had to do something to distract the little guy.

“Manfred, I love your teas. I really do. I just don’t really feel thirsty anymore. And we don’t want them to go to waste, do we?”

Manfred hissed at her, gloved hands fidgeting. Head held low. He looked positively dejected. Rook’s heart broke for him. It was easy to forget just how innocent and unaccustomed to their world the spirit often was.

“You know, if you wanted to, you could find Assan and play for a while? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

If anything, his head dipped even lower.

“Or not…” She had to find something better. “What about Neve?”

He perked up at the name. His head was crooked to one side.

Rook grinned. Both Manfred and Assan adored Neve.

“I’m sure she’s awake by now. You could see what she is up to. She’s probably preparing breakfast. Wanna go and help her?”

Manfred twisted towards Emmrich. He hissed inquisitively at his mentor.

“Sorry, Manfred,” she took one of his gloved hands and tugged until he turned back to her. “I’m afraid Emmrich needs to sleep a bit longer. But I’m sure he would approve if you want to spend time with Neve and the others. I’ll keep watch here; it’s okay.”

She was certain of it. Emmrich liked to deny it, but she knew he loved the little skeleton like a son. He would not want Manfred to needlessly worry over him.

It took a long moment before Manfred gave in. He patted Emmrich’s arm gently before he left. The heavy door closed quietly behind him.

In his wake, silence settled in. Rook wasn’t a stranger to silence; she had travelled alone long enough to be comfortable with her own company. She was, however, quite new to sitting at someone's sickbed. Before the Veil Jumpers, she had seldom teamed up with others for extended periods of time. Wounded companions had hardly ever been a problem, and if a battle had gone south – well, that was the reason why a good company usually had a healer in it. Rook was used to inflict damage, not make it better.

The fever had pulled him back into sleep quickly, but it was not an easy rest. He was fretful and restless, mumbling to himself. Every so often he woke, confused and barely lucid. Agitated, more often than not. Most certainly unaware of his surroundings or her presence.

Over the last few hours, she had worked out a few ways to calm him. Reassuring words seemed to have an effect but were mostly lost to him. Instead, he responded rather well to physical touch. And so she combed her fingers through his hair, held his hand and rubbed endless circles into his skin.

It did little to ease his symptoms, but so did all the remedies at her disposal. She had brewed tea from healing herbs, wiped his brow with cold towels, and rubbed a cooling salve on his fever-heated chest. Even a healing potion had failed them. The fever was unyielding.

Too little, too late,  Rook thought darkly. He should have stayed here, resting, instead of dreading through the wetlands, soaked in rain and mud.  Every decision I make is just cursed.

She was aware of how ridiculous the notion was. Ever since Weisshaupt, her team – her friends – had told her differently. And yet…

She sighed, scrubbing her hands over her face. Overtired and anxious, she knew she was not in the right mind to contemplate her choices. But doubt and regret were close to her heart. As they often were when she felt overwhelmed and crowded. It was why she usually travelled alone. It was easier that way; solitude was a blanket she liked to hide under. After the disaster with the Veil Jumpers, Rook had thought she would live like this forever. Alone, not dependent on anyone and unattached to the fate of others.

And then Varric had barrelled his way into her life. And now… now isolation wasn’t quite so appealing anymore.

She bowed forward until her face rested against the bed. Eyes closed, she could almost pretend this was one of her naps. Just for a moment…

Emmrich groaned in his sleep, snapping her back to wakefulness. She sat up and leaned forward. One hand against his cheek, the other tangled with his.

“Hey,” Rook kept her voice low, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” He did not wake, but after a moment of gentle reassurance, he calmed down.

She stayed like this a moment longer, absorbed in the moment. The heat underneath her palm worried her. As did his altered mental state. A strong fever could do frightful things to even the strongest mind and body.

A knock on the door startled Rook out of her thoughts.

“Emmrich?” Neve’s voice was loud in the stillness of the laboratory. “Are you in here? You wouldn’t know where Rook is, would you?”

“I’m here,” Rook said, suddenly feeling caught.

Silly,  she thought.  I’m not doing anything… unbecoming.

“Oh,” Neve paused for a moment, “uh, if I’m interrupting—“

“No! No. You… you can just come here. Please?”

Neve’s uneven steps came closer, and then, finally, she peeked around the bookshelves.

“Oh, Emmrich,” Neve’s eyebrows were drawn together as she took in the scene. She looked taken aback, but not truly surprised. Her voice was full of sympathy.

So she had noticed too, then. Of course she had;  she was Neve.  And Emmrich, admittedly, had not done a good job at hiding anything these last days.

Neve walked around the bed. When she stopped behind Rook, she laid a steady hand on her shoulder. “Let me have a look?”

Rook nodded but kept Emmrich’s hand in hers.

Neve leaned over Emmrich and felt for his pulse and his temperature. For a moment she rested a slender hand on his chest, over his heart. There was a faint light, just barely visible. Rook had not seen Neve use any healing magic since the destruction of Docktown. She had tended to Assan the other day, but it had been Bellara who had used her magic to heal the griffon. That she was willing to attempt it for Emmrich…

“How long since he went down?”

“A bit after dawn. We had a quick breakfast. And,” Rook took a deep breath, steadying herself against the memory. “And Manfred got me a while later.”

“Fred?”

“Yeah. Emmrich had a nightmare. A real bad one. I think it scared Manfred. Poor guy was all waving his arms around and hissing like crazy. And, well. Emmrich woke up for a bit, but he was already…” She motioned at his still form.

Neve nodded, “Explains why Fred’s so skittish. Emmrich probably came down with whatever haunted him the last couple of days.”

Rook hummed, rubbing her thumb into the soft skin of his palm.

“You gave him anything?” Neve asked, eyeing the empty potion on his bedside table.

Rook nodded. “Healing potion, tea, stuff like that.”

“Well, good. At least now we know what was wrong with him. Afraid there’s not much I can do, through. Some things just have to run their course. I will check our potion stash. Maybe Lucanis can make more of his soup.”

“We had soup?”

Neve huffed a small laugh, “Lucanis made some for Emmrich earlier.”

“Oh, that’s rather…” She searched for a word to describe the fuzzy feeling in her chest.

“Sweet? Yeah.” Neve’s face was blank – well, almost blank. Only the faintest hint of a smile was tugging at her lips. And that tender look in her eyes, the one she recently got around the Lighthouse. Usually when Lucanis was close.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Neve said as she brushed some hair from Emmrich’s forehead with gentle fingers.

Rook grinned at that, “I wasn’t going to say anything!”

“Ah, sure you were.”

“Was not!”

#####

True to Neve’s words, Lucanis brought them lunch. A stack of sandwiches and two bowls of soup. The sandwiches were filled with funny-smelling yellow cheese. They crunched when Rook bit into them, and the cheese inside was tangy and rich. Rook dipped them in her tomato soup.

“You must be starving,” Lucanis observed, a smile in his voice. Rook hummed. She was always starving. They were seated at Emmrich’s desk; a small fire warmed the open space. Lucanis nursed a cup of coffee while Rook wolfed down her food. The silence between them felt comfortable. It soothed something in Rook; a knot of nervous energy that had her chest feeling tight and restricted. Not gone, but better.

“The soup is delicious, really. The cheese, too,” she praised around a bite.

“I will make sure to give your compliments to Harding. She donated the cheese to our stock.”

Lucanis looked marginally better than she had last seen him. The stress lines around his eyes were relaxed, although they looked almost bruised with how deep the shadows under his eyes were today. He had probably not slept since they had come back. But he smiled softly to himself as she admired his cooking. His body language was calm, almost placid.

Rook was aware of how much Lucanis struggled underneath that serene facade. His imprisonment, the forced co-existence with Spite, and his grandmother’s disappearance. And now the betrayal of his cousin, someone he clearly loved dearly. His family, Rook imagined, was probably the most important thing to Lucanis.

It was a topic Rook tried to avoid as much as possible. Family to her was something very different from Lucanis’ definition. He had been right the other day. She did not understand, not to the same degree at least. She had been raised on roads and in the depths of strange forests. The only daughter of a runaway city elf and a Dalish without a clan. Her parents had tried what Rook assumed to be their best. They certainly had taught her to survive. She had been cared for as much as her parents had been able to provide. She had never been hungry for too long, or too cold, or sicker than was unavoidable in the wilderness. Growing up wild had been tough but also adventurous. But it admittedly compared poorly to Lucanis' understanding of family. The ties he had with others, not only through blood but also shared experiences. Lucanis had friends where Rook knew associates. She could only imagine the emotions…

She wanted him to work through this issue on his own time, in his own way. She knew he would find support with the other Crows, with their team. And of course, Rook was prepared to aid him in whatever way he needed. Pushing him was bound to go poorly. Again.

But time was running short. Soon enough, they would have to confront Illario and whatever supporters he had managed to find in Treviso. The peace in the city was fragile as it was. The Crows would need to stand united and strong against the Antaam. And possibly the Evanuris, if it came to that. They could not lose another ally and certainly not one so strong.

Rook had accepted the role as acting leader while Varric was recuperating. On the battlefield she was comfortable enough. Thinking on her feet came easy to her. Even navigating the many requests and needs of their allies felt doable. Well, maybe with the exception of the First Warden. But still.

But this… Over the span of a few short weeks, Rook had begun to realise that her team relied on her for more than battle plans and broad strategies to bring down two gods. They trusted her not only with their lives but also with their well-being. Their emotions. It was humbling. And scary.

Maybe if she had prepared them better before Docktown and Weisshaupt – if she had talked to Lucanis before confronting Zara – hell, maybe if she had just talked to Emmrich a few days ago… She had seen him struggle in the Wetlands and later in the Lighthouse.

“Rook? You okay?” Lucanis looked at her. One eyebrow raised at her. He was leaning back in his seat, legs crossed.

“Where were you going?” His voice was light, almost teasing.

“Sorry,” Rook licked the last drops of soup from her fingers. “Just thinking.”

Lucanis snorted good-naturedly, smirking at her. “Don’t hurt yourself there.”

“I’ll try,” she mirrored his smile as best as she could. And, judging by the way his smile faded, did an awful job at it.

“Thinking, about what?”

“If’s and what’s, mostly. You know, all that stuff.”

He hummed, thoughtfully, “regrets?”

“Yeah. Regrets ,” she breathed the word, its bitter taste heavy on her tongue. “I’m not used to… all that.”

“Fighting gods and blighted dragons? Suppose you’re not the only one,” Lucanis’ voice was soft and full of sympathy.

It would be so easy to fall into their usual banter. To only skim the surface of this, to skip the hard part in the middle – the ugly but honest emotions – and go straight back to business.

She could see it in Lucanis’ eyes – he would go with it. He would not question her, would not call her mistakes out, if she in turn left his issue untouched. Maybe they could both pretend they had never argued or that it had not hurt them both. They would go on regardless and do what they had resolved to do: bring Illario to justice, fight the Gods, seal the Fade and go on with their lives.

It was what Rook would have done before… But Varric had trusted her with his team. And she wanted – needed – to make him proud. And this was not Varric’s way.

Don’t be a coward.

“No, you and… and them,” she blurted. Lucanis froze, eyes suddenly wide. She carried on before he had a chance to interrupt her.

“Having a team and. And, friends,” the word stumbled from her lips, but she could not stop there, “I am sorry for what happened with the Crows. I’m not sorry for sharing my … concerns. But I shouldn’t have done it like that. I know I am. Well. Not the most eloquent, I guess. Blunt. And I hurt you, and for that I am sorry. I wish I had been wrong; I really do. And you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. I just needed you to know. You were right; I don’t know–"

“No!” Lucanis cut in, an almost desperate tone to his voice. He was sitting up, back almost painfully straight now. A strange look on his face. “No, Rook, please. I should not have said that. That was cruel of me.”

“It wasn’t, but… you were right. I don’t know how it feels. With. With family.” She faltered a bit. “My family… they-“

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice strangely breathless.

“I know. But I want to. I don’t have siblings or cousins or anything. And I haven’t seen my parents in… some time now. And I don’t have friends. I mean, outside of you guys. But I can see that you love your family, and you clearly care a lot for them. And I didn’t mean to disrespect that. So, please. I am sorry, truly.”

Lucanis had averted his gaze. He was motionless, but his knuckles had gone white where he gripped the cup in his hands. For a long moment nothing happened, and Rook struggled with the urge to push more words between them to fill the silence.

She had said what had been important. He deserved time to take them in.

Rook’s heart hammered in her chest. Until, finally, Lucanis took a deep breath and turned back to her. His face was sombre but his eyes strangely bright.

“Thank you, Rook. Truly. You were candid, even when I could not appreciate it at the time. I do, now. Can you accept my apology?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Of course. Can you forgive me, too?”

He smiled at her, a small and timid but sincere thing. “I already have. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Treviso and … the Crows. But I am glad you’re by my side.”

“I’m glad, too. To have you, I mean. Uhm, here.”

Rook shook her head. Anxiety that had burdened her soul for days suddenly left her, and she felt almost giddy. It must have shown on her face, or maybe Lucanis felt similar; he grinned at her, wide and open.

“You really are not the most eloquent, are you?”

“No,” she laughed, “I leave that to you and-“  Emmrich.  She caught herself, looking over to where his bed was hidden behind the bookcases.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. How is he?”

Rook hummed, “I don’t know. Unwell.”

“You’re worried,” Lucanis observed.

“Yeah. Probably over nothing. It’s a cold or something like that. Neve thinks so, too.”

“She told me,” he stood up and collected Rook’s empty plate. “What does your intuition tell you?”

The memory of last night weighed heavily on her mind. The way Emmrich had called out for her. Distressed. Tears on his handsome face, still running even after he had woken. How his skin burnt under her finger. The dread she had felt when he had not recognised her at first.

“Doesn’t feel like nothing,” Rook admitted quietly.

#####

She stood before Emmrich’s bookshelves, her eyes roaming over the various titles. She understood little of what she saw and had no real desire to read any of them. But sitting idle for so long made Rook itch for any distraction.

“Class-book of anatomy. First principles of human mechanism,” she read the title of a particular thick-looking book.

Well, maybe not any distraction…

Behind her the heavy door creaked as it was pushed open.

“Hey, Neve told me the professor is ill?”

“Bellara!” Rook rushed towards her friend.

“You’re up! How are you?” She asked, as she hugged the smaller elf. Bellara looked tired, her hair messy and loose for once, but otherwise healthy.

“Rook!” There was a smile in Bellara’s voice as she tugged her face against Rook’s neck for a moment. “I’m fine. Much better since Davrin got me some of Lucanis’ food. I could do with a long, hot bath, but, really, I’m okay.”

“Soup and sandwiches?”

“You had them, too? Weren’t they amazing?”

Bellara was warm in Rook’s arm. And as she pulled away, Rook found herself reluctant to let her go. There was an unpleasant pressure over her nose, a burning sensation behind her eyes. She took a shaking breath as Bellara grasped her hand and squeezed.

“Are you okay?”

Rook nodded, avoiding her eyes as she struggled with her emotions.

“Yeah,” her voice was thick. She cleared her throat before she continued.

“Just a long night, you know?”

“After a long day, after a long week?”

“Pretty much,” Rook mumbled and squeezed Bellara’s hand back, grateful for her friend's quiet support and understanding.

The last time Rook had talked to Bellara, they had rushed into a hard fight against Zara. The last time she had seen Bellara, her friend had been bloody and beaten, carried away by Taash. Emmrich had assured her that Bellara had not been in any danger. Hurt, yes. But not dying. And she trusted him with her life and the lives of their friends. But Bellara had looked —

Rook could still smell it: the copper in the air, thick and stifling to her senses. The slick warmth on their skin. Rook had bathed for hours… She had scrubbed the blood from her skin as much as she wished she could erase it from her memory.

“Really, Rook,” Bellara tugged at her hand gently. “I’m okay. Davrin said you guys helped me back here, and Emmrich is a great healer. I feel right as rain! Promise!”

It eased some of the anxiety in Rook’s chest. Not enough to untangle the tightness, but if this was one less thing to worry about, she would accept it gladly.

“So,” Bellara said after a moment, dragging the word out and making sure to catch Rook’s eyes before she continued, “how is he?”

“Poorly,” Rook gestured towards the little nook where Emmrich’s bed was snugly hidden behind a couple of bookshelves. “Feverish.”

They stepped towards the bed. Emmrich was curled on his side, his hair sticking out in a matted mess. His skin, pale at the best of times, was ashen except for the unnatural redness on his cheeks. He was breathing quietly but fast, nose pressed against his pillow.

“Oh,” Bellara said as she rounded the bed and crouched before him.

“Emmrich?” Her voice was quiet. Worry clear in it as she cautiously touched his shoulder.

“How long since he last woke?”

“I kind of woke him up two hours ago for some soup.” Rook pointed towards the bowl on his nightstand. “But he wasn’t really here. The last time we talked was really early this morning, when Manfred got me.” Bellara looked at her quizzically, so Rook added, “Emmrich had a nightmare, and the little guy got spooked. I stayed after that.”

“He’s burning up, alright,” Bellara observed. “Any other symptoms? Coughing? Trouble breathing?”

“No, nothing like that. You can have a cold without it, can’t you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Bellara answered as she straightened up. “But it’s unexpected.”

She reached around him, laying one hand flat on his back. Her finger splayed wide, the palm of her hand against his spine. There was a faint glow to her hand as she closed her eyes in concentration.

Magic took time; Rook was aware of that simple fact. But the nervous energy building in her belly was uncaring of such knowledge. Rook tried to dispel some of it, bouncing on her feet. Unsuccessfully.

“Is unexpected  good or bad?” She blurted when the silence stretched too long.

Bellara took a moment longer before she leaned back again. She was chewing on her lip, the way she did when she was presented with a particular daunting problem.

“Considering the symptoms and timeline, probably bad,” Bellara mumbled, more to herself than to Rook. Oblivious to the sudden pain that seized Rook’s chest as dread crawled up her back. Her mouth was strangle dry all of a sudden.

“But,” she started, suddenly breathless. “But you can help, right? Fix him with magic?”

Bellara had taken one of Emmrich’s hands in hers, her slender fingers over his pulse point.

“Oh, well, I thought maybe we’d try a potion. Have you tried potions? Maybe some herbs? I could brew a tea and-“ Whatever Bellara had been about to say died on her lips as she looked up. The reassuring smile slipping off her when she caught Rook’s expression.

“Oh, Rook!” Bellara hurried back to her, a sudden urgency in her movement. “It’s fine; it’s gonna be fine. Can I hug you?”

It could be bad. He could be seriously ill.  And Rook had just wasted time waiting out a common cold that had never been—

“Rook?” Bellara’s warm hand on her face brought her out of her spiralling thoughts. “I’m gonna hug you now. You look like you could use one. Okay? Please – nod or something.”

Rook was dimly aware that she nodded rather stiffly, but only a second later Bellara tugged her into a tight embrace, and she forgot about feeling awkward about it. Warm hands rubbed up and down her back.

“It’s fine. We have a bunch of potions in the infirmary. And if that doesn’t do the trick, well. We’ll figure it out. Neve and I. And we have, um. We have Harding, too! She knows a lot about herbs. And I mean a lot! And you, you know them, too. Don’t you? You said you do. I’m sure you do! And we can see what stuff Davrin picked up with the Wardens. And- and Taash and Lucanis, too. We’re all here. He’s going to be okay. You’re okay. Are you okay? You’re breathing funny.”

Bellara’s rambling washed over Rook. She was no longer staring at walls filled with books. Her vision blurry and her head strangely foggy, the air too thin to breathe. It was hard to think. Or to follow Bellara. She had said… something about breathing? Was she breathing? She tried to concentrate on herself. Bellara’s warm hands on her back, her hair tingling Rook’s face. Her own hands, trapped between their bodies, shaking ever so slightly. The constricted feeling in her chest. She took a small breath.

Rosemary and lemon soap lingered on Bellara’s skin and hair. The copper smell washed away from her. No blood. She shoved the awful memory of Bellara’s body, unconscious in a shallow sea of blood, away from her.

Another breath, deeper this time. Her head cleared, the ringing in her ears gradually subsiding.

“Rook?” Bellara asked in a hushed voice once Rook had calmed down enough to lift her head away from Bellara’s shoulder.

There was something wet on her cheek, but Bellara was already rubbing it away.

“Sorry. Bellara, I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Bellara pulled slowly away from her. “I shouldn’t have said it like that. You’re worried; of course you are. It’s fine; we’ll take care of it. Okay?”

“We… tried,” Rook slowly said, gathering her thoughts like broken shards of glass.

“Uh, tried, what?”

“Potions. Herbs. Didn’t do anything.”

Bellara was chewing her lip again.

“Okay,” she nodded. “Then we brainstorm. All together. As a team.”

“Together.”

“Yes.”

#####

Rook found herself sitting with her team a few short hours later. It was almost dark again. Time, Rook thought, felt strangely disconnected from her.

Assan chirped quietly, his head pressed against Rook’s side. She ran her fingers down his neck, his silky feathers a pleasant sensation under her nervous hands. It calmed the fluttering energy in her; a part of her that wanted to fidget and run and maybe punch someone in the throat for good measure.

“I already made more soup,” Lucanis carefully swirled the remaining coffee in his cup. “A lovely recipe, spicy with a lot of herbs. Very invigorating.”

“Do the Crows fix everything with food?” Davrin asked, his voice more amused than curious. He was rolling the handle of his wood carving knife between his hands. A rough piece of wood balanced on his knee.

Lucanis mock-saluted him with his cup. “Only the things we do not solve with a knife.”

“We could also get fresh herbs,” Harding had a thoughtful look on her face, “I think we could also do with some more for teas and tinctures. My ma has something that fixes you right up. Worked for me every winter!”

Neve nodded, “Our potion stocks are dwindling rapidly. We need to restock, anyway. Why not combine efforts here.”

“The Veiljumpers could help with that,” Bellara added. “And we can forage a bit in Arlathan Forest while we’re there. There’s a special root that has potent healing properties. It does not preserve well, so we should harvest it freshly.”

“Didn’t you train Assan to find stuff like that?” Taash asked and Assan looked up at them.

“He’s more likely to find worms,” Davrin mumbled. Assan chirped excitedly at the mention of his favourite snack. “Calm down, boy. See what I mean?”

“Don’t write him off so easily,” Neve leaned forward until she caught Assan’s eyes. “Never known when they surprise you. Right, Assan?”

Assan jumped towards Neve, his wings flapping at his side. Both Neve and Harding had to duck their heads to avoid getting hit, but they were both laughing at his antics.

“And now he’s all excited.” Despite sounding miffed, Davrin smiled at the display of affection. Neve had embraced Assan in an effort to calm him down. The griffon purred loudly at her.

“But look at that cute face,” Neve laughed as she play-wrestled with Assan.

“Neve’s right, can’t be mad at that cute-y face!” Harding chirped in.

There was a buzzing noise in Rook’s ears. She watched her friends joke and laugh and only felt empty. No, not empty. Something worse. Annoyance.

It’s heartwarming,  she reminded herself in an effort to keep her temper.  They need this.

She concentrated on her own hands instead of the others; on her breathing, deliberately slow and even.

Getting angry won’t help anything. This is irrational. Childish. Get a grip-

“Rook?” Bellara’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. When Rook looked up, all of her friends were watching her.

Bellara’s dark eyes were soft and full of… pity? Rook’s face felt uncomfortably hot as shame bubbled up in her stomach.

“So, we find herbs in Arlathan and buy the rest in Treviso? That’s the plan?” She had meant to ask in a neutral tone, but her voice was anything but. Blunt and rushed even to her own ears. Angry.

Neve and Harding straightened up, the mood in the room rapidly turning subdue.

Rook regretted her tone of voice instantly.

“Unless you want us to do something else?” Harding carefully asked.

She was not frustrated with them, but only herself. She missed Emmrich’s steady present. Before Rook had any chance to rectify her behaviour, Neve jumped back into the conversation.

“We should also seek out a healer or physician. Can’t hurt to cover all our bases, right?”

Lucanis hummed, “The Crows can provide us with contacts.”

“Yes,” Neve nodded, “The Mourn Watch, too.”

“Oh right! The Professor can’t be the only good healer there, right? They are experts on anatomy, of course they know about healing,” Bellara agreed.

“So we go to Arlathan Forest, Treviso and the Necropolis?”

“Rook?” Davrin asked carefully.

Shame, hope, gratitude; a wave of emotion chocked Rook. She was supposed to be their leader. Varric was counting on her. The team was reliant on her decisions, on her steady feet and even mind. Yet here she was, fighting tears.

“Rook.” Neve was quiet, her voice soft.

“Yeah. That,” she pushed the tears and emotions down, away, somewhere deep into the darkness within her, “that sounds… Good. Thank you. Really. Thank you.”

#####

“And, well, we made a plan,” Rook told Emmrich later, in the darkness of his room. “Bellara is going to stay here, with you and me. Davrin will take Assan and Harding to the Veiljumpers, while Lucanis and Taash go to Treviso. And Neve is going to the Necropolis to speak with Vorgoth. Everyone is working together. It’s really… inspiring. Yeah, I think you’d find it inspiring.”

She wiped at his brow with a damp cloth. The sickness was etched into his features: his skin flushed and drained of colours in patches, eyes sunken and bruised. Emmrich was always thin, but now he looked… frail.

“Only you’d probably phrase it better. Fancier.” The last word ended in a breathless laugh. Rook could just imagine the face he would make if she accused him of being overly ostentatious. She paused, waiting for an answer she knew would not come.

“Anyway. Tomorrow they’ll go and find a solution – some way to help. Or, I don’t know, five ways. It’s what we do, right? Fixing things. And then you get better, and we can talk about what’s going on. Because I have to tell you how stupid I’ve been. And how thickheaded you are. And we can finally make up and be okay. And then you can help me with Lucanis. And Neve. Because I could really use some help there. Your help, actually.”

She cradled his hand in hers, tracing the lines on his palm. His skin was soft and unblemished. Well cared for. Rook admired how put-together Emmrich presented himself, even in crisis. It was so unlike the men Rook knew. The ones who prided themselves on their physical strength and their prowess in combat and little else. All sweaty muscles and heated moments after battle. Momentary excitement and nothing more.

With Emmrich, things were infinitely gentler. He always had her back. His steady hand never hurt her, even when he tended to her wounds. There was a connection there when he looked at her. Never before had she felt so intrigued by another person. Imagined someone else beside her. In her bed, at night. The next morning…  maybe longer.

He flexed his fingers, bringing her out of her thoughts. Emmrich was still asleep, in the middle of whatever sickness had found him in the wetlands, and here she was mulling over her silly fantasies.

The exhaustion was really getting to her now. She missed him; that was all. It would all go back to normal in a day or two.

#####

It was dark.

That was the first thing she noticed upon waking. It was dark, and her face was squished against something soft. She must have fallen asleep hunched over Emmrich’s bedside. Probably not for long, if her exhaustion was any measure to go by.

Maybe just another hour, Rook thought drowsily. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the mattress under her cheek. It was soft and warm and —

Someone stroked the palm of her hand. Rook jerked awake, heart in her throat.

“What—“

“Rook,” his voice was incredibly quiet and rough. The most beautiful thing.

“Emmrich?” She closed the distance between them, eager to see his face.

He was on his side, one arm extended towards her. The hand she had been holding, palm up. His hair was mussed, his breathing heavy against his pillow. But his eyes were open. He was blinking up at her, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Oh, Emmrich,” she cupped his jaw with her hand, brushing her thumb over his cheek. “Are you awake?”

He swallowed heavily, “think so.” He sounded slightly dazed, and Rook wondered how lucid he was.

“What—“ His voice was like gravel, and he grimaced in pain.

“Wait,” she interrupted, sitting up again. There was a cup of tea on his nightstand. A herbal blend she had made herself: ginger, yarrow and cinnamon sweetened with honey. It had a sharp, somewhat astringent, but also floral flavour. A tea her mother had prepared for fevers. The tea had gone cold, but Rook found herself unwilling to leave him in order to fetch something else.

He winced in pain as she helped him sit up but drank the tea without complaint.

“Thank you.”

“For cold tea?”

He hummed, the ghost of a smile on his face. “For aiding an old man.”

“You’re not—“ Rook started, slipping into the familiar argument before she could stop herself. “Nevermind. How are you feeling?”

His eyes were dark in the unlit room. Confusion clear on his face as he looked around. Probably trying to take stock of the situation. She felt the heat of sudden shame burning on her face. Hopefully it was too dark for him to notice both her embarrassment and the chaos that had followed her into his rooms. Old teacups, discarded clothes…

“What time is it?”

“Probably very late. Or way too early.” He hummed, blinking slowly into the darkness.

She reached out. A gentle finger on his cheek to get his attention.

“How are you doing?” She repeated her question when he met her eyes. Ashen-faced, with bloodshot eyes and matted, sweaty hair, he looked dreadfully unhealthy. And yet, when he looked at her, he smiled. A soft, sweet thing. Emmrich leaned lightly into her hand. A gesture so unlike him, she figured he was not even aware of it.

“I’m… actually sore,” he admitted eventually. He glanced down, taking her other hand in his.

“Maybe,” his voice was low, like he was sharing a particular unsavoury secret, “I am a bit under the weather.”

Rook snorted, curling her fingers around his.

“Well, at least you’re finally acknowledging it.”

He blinked at her, mouth a bit agape, that ridiculous stunned expression on his face he got whenever she surprised him. Or flattered him. Adorable.

“You… noticed, then?” He blinked at her, slowly, like the short conversation had already drained his energy.

“Just a hunch,” Rook soothed. “You want anything? Food, maybe? I could get you some fruit. Fresh tea, too.”

Her question went unanswered. Instead, Emmrich’s eyes focused on her. He reached for her face, his warm palm against her jaw. His thumb slowly stroking her cheek.

In their time together, Rook had learnt that Emmrich was a tactile person, if not a bit reserved. Touching her arm or her shoulder in displays of compassion or happiness, sometimes to reassure or soothe. Just for a moment, but solid and warm. But they had never felt quite this intimate before.

His thumb left a hot trail on her skin that made Rook shiver. Almost against her will, she let her eyes slip closed. Savouring the feeling.

He’s probably half asleep,  Rook thought.  I should stop this.

But his thumb painted warm patterns on her skin. And oh, how many times had she imagined…

“You look exhausted,” he observed after several minutes. “How long have you been here?”

“What?”

“I worry about you,” he said, swaying slightly. A gentle hand on his shoulder kept him upright, but Rook could tell he had exhausted his limits.

“Likewise. Come now, get some more sleep. Alright?”

“Only…”

“Yes?”

“I would rest easier if you were, too,” he repeated her own request back to her. The hint of a sly smile tugging at his mouth. Although the sluggish way he was blinking up at her morphed it into a somewhat comical expression she had never seen on this usual, so serious professor.

Rook couldn’t help but laugh.

“That’s cute, really.”

He hummed, his brow furrowing. Before he had the chance to argue, Rook pushed her fingers through his hair, gently scratching at his scalp. He relaxed under her hands. It was endearing to see how quickly he surrendered to it. “But I’m not leaving you.”

He grumbled unintelligibly against his pillow, eyes closing.

There you go,  she thought.  That wasn’t so hard.

It was still dark, and while it was hard to tell the correct time in the fade, Rook thought daylight was still some hours away. Maybe she could take a quick nap. Or clean Emmrich’s room of her clutter before he woke truly.

Yeah, better not risk any more bad impressions.

But two nights without real rest tugged heavily at Rook. Before she could come to a decision, however, Emmrich stirred again.

“Shhh, go back to sleep.”

He was pushing himself backwards on shaking arms.

“What are you doing now?”

“M’ng Room—“ He was slurring, and Rook wondered if he had meant to say her name.

“What?”

“Making room,” he repeated.

“For what?” Rook asked, even though she had a vague idea what he was planning to offer.

“You,” Emmrich answered, gently patting the now vacant space next to him.

Seriously, how was she to refuse such a suggestion?

Chapter Text

“Rook, garas quenathra? What news do you bring?”

It was freezing here, in Solas’ self-made prison. Floating rocks, barely illuminated by strange lights. No sun or wind, no noise. A place devoid of life.

No wonder the gods are mad. If he stays here, will it do the same to him?

“Solas.” He stood on the other side of the abyss. Back straight, hands clasped behind him, poised as always. His face a carefully blank mask. If residing in this place affected him, he hid it too well for Rook to tell.

He raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting her to pick up the conversation.

“So?”

“Uh, no. No news. Nothing major, anyway.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on her.

“But?” He dragged the word out slowly like one would address a child. Or maybe someone particularly slow.

“We’re making allies, helping them so they can help us. But no news on Elgar’nan or Ghilan’nain.”

Solas stayed silent at that, eyes still fixed on her. Rook fought the need to twitch, to rub her hands together and, worse of all, spill information she would rather not share. He was making her nervous, and he probably knew it. She bit the inside of her cheek, holding his gaze.

At her prolonged silence, his eyebrow raised even higher.

“It’s all I have right now. Don’t know what else to tell you.”

“And yet, you linger.”

“Do I?” Rook asked, pushing down the sudden urge to snap at him. “I’m not even sure how I got here. I just went for a nap.”

Finally, he broke eye contact. He turned and walked a few steps, his eyes on the darkness surrounding them. Rook used the moment to press her hands together, shaking her legs to dispel some of the nervous energy.

Usually, she did not mind talking to Solas. While he acted aloof, he had offered her valuable insight and advice. The bickering and occasional sneering at each other felt more like banter than actual hostility. Tonight, exhausted and worried, she felt too thin-skinned to deal with it.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to, uh, disturb you. Just tell me how to wake myself up, and I’m out of here.”

Solas looked back to her over his shoulder. He regarded her for another long moment. His scrutiny spiked her annoyance.

“You are troubled. If not by your tasks, then what else?”

“Why do you care?”

“Why would I not?”

What? That’s… new. And strange.

“You care? About… me?”

“Again, why would I not? You are, obviously, distracted.”

There it was. Rook felt her temper rise. “Ah, so it is about the task. About what I am supposed to do for you.”

“The fate—“

“Fate? Don’t even start! Ma banal las halamshir var vhen! Our people and the world!”

“Rook,” now it was his turn to snap at her. “You are vexing. How will fighting me benefit you?”

He had a point. As infuriating as it was. She was breathing hard for a moment, in through her nose and out through her mouth. Grounding herself in this impossible place.

“You are troubled,” he repeated evenly once she had calmed down. “Tell me.”

“Troubled? Docktown lies in ruins. The Venatori took over, and the people suffer. We owe them help! We saved Treviso, but the Crows are fighting enemies. Both from without and within. Arlathan Forest is overrun by blight and all kinds of … things. The Wardens are severely weakened. Our gods went to war on the world,” Rook took a deep breath. She looked up at Solas. His face was tight, mouth thin. “We are all troubled.”

“Yes,” he said, voice sombre. “A fair assessment.”

Solas nodded to himself, and Rook took another moment to breathe through her emotions.

“But,” he continued, and Rook couldn’t help but groan. “That is not all.”

“Is that not enough for you?”

“Answer my question. What is troubling you?”

“Will you stop asking if I say that the state of the world is troubling to me?”

All she got from Solas was a sly smirk in return.

“Figures,” Rook grumbled. “Whatever. Neve lost her home; she is in pain. So is Lucanis, who lost his family. As did Bellara. Davrin, too, lost so many wardens he knew, as well as his griffons. Who are still missing! Harding and Taash are struggling with their identities. And Varric…” Rook shook her head, unwilling to go further. She worried about Varric, but that was none of Solas’ business. “I don’t know how to help with any of that.” The words tasted bitter.

“Ah,” Solas gave her a solemn look. “As their leader, it is your duty to steer them through their darkness. Yet, you left some out.”

“Emmrich,” the name fell from her lips in a whisper. She knew Solas waited for her to continue. But what was she to say? Whatever troubled Emmrich, he had not confided in her. Not like the others had. And his sickness… while it frightened her, it was temporary. Had to be. Either way, there was nothing Solas could do to help. There simply was no advice to be given, no matter how badly Rook wanted one.

So she kept quiet, kicking fade dust to avoid looking at him.

When he spoke up, his voice was unusually gentle. “And you.”

“What?” She looked back at him. There was something else on his face, something she had not yet seen in him. A soft expression, almost compassionate. Not him, too. It was too much. An uncomfortable pressure was building up behind her eyes. Her nose burnt as she sniffed.

“I- No.”

“Ma nuvenin, Rook,” Solas amended softly, and the fight left Rook’s body suddenly.

“No, I… ma halani. What am I supposed to do?”

“How are you to lead if you do not know your own way? Think about it, Rook. But first, you must wake up.”

“And then?”

“Mala suledin nadas.”

###

Once again, she woke up exhausted. Rook blinked blearily, taking in her surroundings. It was still dark - and wasn’t that getting old fast? She could not have slept longer than an hour or two. Her head felt foggy, her limbs too heavy.

It was incredibly warm, too. Boiling, actually.

Rook pushed through the fog in her head.

Naps. I’m missing out on a criminal amount of naps.

She was on her back on a surprisingly comfortable mattress. The pillow was soft, too. Much softer than the ones she had in her - oh. She wasn’t in her room, was she?

For a moment she remembered Solas. Dreaming about him - with him - was a singular experience. Logically, she knew the conversations were real. But they felt like dreams, and sometimes she was fuzzy about the details upon waking.

But Solas was still trapped in the Fade, and she was - oh. Emmrich.

It was enough to push Rook to wakefulness.

She was in a bed - or more specifically, Emmrich’s bed. Flat on her back. With a rather suspicious weight draped over her left side.

Emmrich’s short salt-and-pepper hair was mushed against her chin, his head on her shoulder. He was on his belly, one arm thrown over her. His hand was limp at her side.

His hot breath against her neck, she became aware of the fact that he was still heavily fevered. But he was sleeping peacefully for once, free of nightmares, and Rook was unwilling to wake him. There was little she could do anyway. Judging by the light, there was still some time until dawn.

“Let’s get some more sleep,” she told him quietly. Neither expecting nor receiving an answer.

She pushed her nose in his hair. Even after days of illness, she could still smell the scented oils he liked to use. The woody scent of oakmoss and powdery, musky amber lingered even though the lighter notes of lavender, thyme and bergamot had long vanished. There was something else, barely there anymore but clear in her memory: a floral note that always reminded her of roses but was more citrussy. A flower she did not know, had never seen, but already adored.

And underneath all that, a smell unique to him that made her heart ache.

Rook cupped one hand against his neck and curled the other arm around his shoulders. Hugging him against herself. She could not remember the last time she had held someone in her arms like this. In her years wandering Thedas as a mercenary, she had spent the occasional intimate hours with others. Out of passion or need. Once, to starve on a cold night. Rook had never lingered. Had never felt the wish to return to anyone.

Now, holding Emmrich close to her, she wished to never end this moment.

###

By the time Rook could muster the energy to wiggle out of bed, it was already light. And her friends had left the lighthouse. All but Bellara.

She tugged Emmrich in, combing her fingers through his hair for a long moment. He did not stir, and his laboured breathing was heavy in the silence of the room.

I’ll get him another healing potion on the way back. And breakfast.

The stone underneath Rook’s bare feet was blessedly cold. It helped wake her sluggish brain and cool down her skin. Outside, she took a moment to breathe and clear her head. With her arms above her head, she stretched until her back popped. Moving her stiff muscles felt good. Rook allowed herself a moment of serenity.

She found Bellara and Manfred tinkering over an elven artefact. The spirit jumped to his feet the moment she opened Bellara’s door, rushing in for a hug.

“Hey, Manfred,” she hugged him tight despite his many sharp edges, and Manfred hissed happily.

“Morning,” she greeted Bellara once Manfred had untangled himself from her.

Bellara, who was sitting on the ground in a mess of opened books, scrolls and little instruments Rook could not identify, smiled tiredly up to her.

“Hey, Rook. Hi. How are you doing? Oh! Before I forget, Lucanis told me to tell you he left breakfast in the kitchen for you. And Emmrich. Of course.”

Rook crouched down next to her. The artefact looked like a halla carved out of a dark crystal. It was beautiful, if not a bit rough around the edges. One horn was missing, and the broken piece glowed in a slight blue-greenish light.

“New project?” Rook asked. She felt the urge to run her fingers over the crystal to see how it would feel.

“Yeah,” Bellara turned the little statue in her hands, a thoughtful look on her face. “A side project. Kinda. I wanted to show it to Emmrich; I can’t figure out the -“ She stopped herself as she caught Rook’s eyes. “It’s kind of complicated.”

“Naturally.”

“Well, anyway. I loaned some of his books, and they helped. But now I’m stuck again.”

“I’m sure Emmrich will be happy to help once he’s a bit better. You know him; can’t keep him away from some scholarly… whatever this is.”

Bellara snorted, swatting at Rook’s hand.

“It’s so… quiet,” Rook observed as they crossed the courtyard together. “Not that it’s usually loud here. But. You know.” She gestured with her hand.

“Yeah, kinda reminds me how it was right at the beginning. Before the others joined, you know?”

“Oh, you’re right. Weird, isn’t it? How fast you get used to things.”

“Or people!”

“Don’t forget griffons and spirits! Right, Manfred?”

The skeleton gurgled cheerfully at her side. His gloved hand brushed hers, and she took it. His thin fingers held fast as they walked.

“Sure! No chance; seeing how tight-knit we’re all these days,” Bellara agreed. “Through,” she added after a moment, smirking up at Rook. “Some,” she dragged the word out, “of us are maybe a bit tighter-knitted than others!”

Rook kept her eyes forward.

“You’re right. Harding and Taash are very close lately!”

“True. But, not really who I was talking about.”

“Ah, of course,” Rook could see the way Bellara perked up. “Neve and Lucanis are getting suspiciously friendly.”

“Rook!” Bellara playfully slapped her elbow. “You know who I mean! And no! It is not me and Davrin or whatever ridiculous thing you're gonna say next.”

“Alright, alright!” Rook gave herself a moment of mirth. “Yeah, maybe. But that’s a strong maybe. We haven’t, like, done anything. Or even talked about it.”

They reached the kitchen, and Rook dutifully held the door for her friends. Inside the aroma of Lucanis’ cooking lingered. Rich, spicy flavours that made her mouth water.

“But you’re, like, always… you know. Flattering him and all that stuff you do.”

“Hey! You make me sound like-“

“A shameless flirt?”

“Well, yeah. But.” She tried to think of a defence and came up blank. “Okay! Okay, maybe a flirt. But not shameless.” As if to prove her words true, her ears started to burn. They were probably turning bright red. Stupid long ears, always sticking out of her hair. Rook grumbled to herself as she started warming up breakfast.

“Evidently,” Bellara quipped. “Still. No goodnight kisses? Some cuddling on the balcony? Come on, give me something, Rook!”

“I think you’re reading too many novels.”

“Lingering touches? Hand holding under the table when nobody’s looking?”

“Certainly too many books.”

“But he - Rook, are you reheating soup?” Rook looked over to her friend at the sudden change of topic.

“Yes?”

“For breakfast?”

“Yep.”

“Ew.”

The hot bowl in her hands was a comfortable contrast to the cold stone under her feet. Next to her, Bellara hummed a tune Rook recognised from Treviso, a tray of utensils and fruits in her hands.

“So,” Rook started slowly. “Who else thinks I am, how did you put it? More closely-knitted to some of you than to others?”

“Besides Neve?”

“Obviously.”

“I mean, Taash hasn’t said anything. But you know them. Not really that invested in that kinda talk.”

And may the gods bless them for it,  Rook thought.

“Well, not that I think they haven’t noticed. I think they have. It’s probably in the scent. You know? And-“

“Bellara, are you telling me everyone around thinks Emmrich and I are-“

“A thing?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Wonderful.

Behind them, Manfred rattled the tea set.

“You may wanna know, there’s also a bet.”

Rook groaned.

###

The noise was the thing that set her off. The moment she entered the laboratory, she could hear the heavy breathing. Bellara must have heard it, too, as she stopped in the middle of a sentence.

Rook was already halfway through the room, her stomach dropping.

Emmrich was where she had left him not half an hour ago. Curled around his pillow, he looked smaller than she had ever seen him. His ashen face contorted in pain, his hair matted and tangled. He was panting heavily. Too loud in the quiet room. Too fast altogether.

Rook was dimly aware that she had let go of the soup. She did not care as she hurried to his side.

“Emmrich?” When she reached out for him, his skin was on fire under her hands. The worst it had been yet. And he was shivering. “Emmrich!”

“Rook, let me see,” Bellara was by her side suddenly. Hands already glowing with magic, she pushed two fingers to his neck.

Her falling expression was all Rook needed to see to realise the gravity of their situation.

Panic, undiluted horror, flooded her veins like poison. Rook had seen people die in battle. People she had known, sometimes even cared about. Never had dread incapacitated her like this. Blood was rushing through her ears, cutting off all other noise. Her vision narrowing, hot pain in her chest like she was the one gasping for air.

She knew she was spiralling, and yet she was helpless against it. Sinking in fear, not unlike the nightmares she often had about drowning. This wasn’t happening - but it was - while it could not.

It’s not supposed to be like this. It’s wrong.

Rook felt light-headed as her world tumbled over itself. She could not breathe and -

‘Mala suledin nadas.’ Solas’ voice echoed in her head. Endure.

His voice was even. And strong. So unexpected, it brought her a moment of clarity.  Endure.

She took a breath. Shaky and small as it was, it eased the pain in her chest.

Don’t panic. Not now.

Another breath, a bit deeper. Her head cleared.

Endure.

A third one, deeper yet. The ringing in her ear dimmed.

For him. I can endure it.

“Rook?” Bellara’s voice was quiet and shaken. Afraid. “Rook, what do we do?”

Years and years ago - long before Rook had been Rook - she had worked with a small team for a while. It had been one of her first real jobs. So inexperienced indeed, her hands shook dreadfully even hours after a hostile encounter.

One of the humans had fallen sick - a wound to the stomach. It had festered and consumed him. Slowly and agonisingly. The smell had been bad. But the noise worse. He had come down with a terrible fever. He had screamed, and begged, and cried… She remembered their healer, an elderly human with a sharp tongue and a bitter soul, had made her help care for the wounded. She could not recall their names, barely their faces. But that was not important.

They were gone, but the lesson remained.

“A bath.” Her voice was thin, and she cleared her throat in an effort to regain control over it.

“What?”

“To cool him down. The others will be back soon. We just… have to make it until then.”

She pushed past Bellara. One hand around his shoulders, she hauled him upwards. Slender-framed, Emmrich looked light enough. Yet he was still a full-grown adult and much taller than her. His head rolled limply against her shoulder, and Rook struggled for a moment to support his weight.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Bellara’s voice was tight with stress but steady. “I can draw one. Ice-“

“No, warm. Lukewarm. We don’t want him shivering. Quick.”

While Bellara hurried away to prepare the bath, Rook settled behind Emmrich. Sitting up, his breathing had eased a bit, but he was still panting. She hugged him close, one hand supporting his head, the other running up and down his side in slow, soothing motions.

“Don’t worry,” she said, unsure who she was addressing - him, Manfred or maybe herself? Or just the empty room.

“I’ve got this. I will lead us through this. I’ll find my way. Just another battle.”

###

The way to the bathroom never had seemed quite so long.

Between the two of them, Bellara and Rook managed to support Emmrich. Luckily, the exercise seemed to succeed where everything else had failed - Emmrich roused enough to keep himself mostly upright. Yet, he stayed silent except for the occasional painted grunt.

“Not so far now,” Rook said once the door to the bathroom came into view.

“I miss,” Bellara muttered, voice strained, “Taash.”

Rook silently agreed. “Well, you’re stuck with me. Not so many muscles, but I like to think I bring the humour.”

Emmrich stumbled, leaning heavily into Rook. He groaned as he clutched her shoulder tightly for balance.

“Wanna hear some jokes?” She added in an effort to distract them.

“Maybe later.”

“Tough crowd,” Rook told Manfred as the skeleton hurried around her to open the door.

The bathroom was spacey - certainly the biggest bath Rook had ever seen.

A tall mirror leaned against one wall, and a low bench and a cabinet full of fluffy towels and little flagons with colourful potions stood against another.

Someone had dragged pots filled with flowers into the room; some with big leaves, others with little flowers that smelt sweetly. Light from outside fell through colourful windows depicting flora Rook had never seen outside the Fade. They painted beautiful moving patterns over everything. Candles, some small, others big, littered the room.

The star of the room, however, was the freestanding bathtub in the middle of the room. An opulent thing, it stood on four golden legs, hand-carved patterns decorating its surface. Runes around the rim glowed with magic.

By the time they had helped Emmrich sit down on the bench, all three of them were out of breath. He leaned against both the wall and Rook, who was sitting next to him for added support. By the way he was squinting, face heavily lined, she could tell he was in a great amount of pain.

Probably a headache,  Rook sympathised. Fevers were a rare thing for her, but she vividly remembered the headache and muscle pain that accompanied them.

“That was,” Bellara wheezed, bent over, arms on her knees, “taxing.”

“Indeed,” Rook mused, “but think about how fun the way back will be.”

Bellara groaned in response.

They took a moment to recuperate, in which Rook tried to plan their next steps. Judging from her hazy memories, Emmrich would not enjoy the next few minutes. She remembered a lot of trashing and screaming.

“So, uh, what’s next?” Bellara asked meekly once she had caught her breath. When Rook looked over to her, she could see why. Her friend fidgeted with her hands as she looked between Emmrich and the bathtub. Face redder than was explainable by pure physical exhaustion.

Oh, right.  Rook couldn’t help but smile. As much as Bellara adored love stories - including those that made Rook’s ears tingle when she read them - she could be surprisingly shy. It was cute.

“I’ve got it from here,” Rook said.

“Oh. Are you sure? I can… I mean, I could do… something? Not that I - uh.” There was an awkward pause in which Bellara tugged at a string in the hem of her blouse, eyes anywhere but on her friends, before she seemingly found the resolve she needed.

Squaring her shoulder, she met Rook’s eyes with newfound confidence: “I don’t want to let you down. Both of you. You’re my friends, and I want to help too.”

“Bellara,” Rook felt a little overwhelmed by Bellara’s honesty. “Thank you. You are helping. You have been helping. A lot, actually.”

She paused, giving Bellara a moment to absorb the words. Bellara watched her closely. A frown on her face.

“Are you sure? That you’ve got this, I mean?”

“Yes. It’s okay.”

Bellara’s voice was quiet but relieved when she answered, “Okay.” She took a couple of steps forward and reached out for Emmrich. He startled slightly when she took his hand in hers.

“It’s gonna be okay, Professor. Rook’s here,” said with such conviction, Rook felt a wave of affection rush over her.

“I’ll stay close by. So, call if you need anything? Okay? Rook?”

“Thank you, Bellara.”

The lighthouse was peaceful. Rook took one last moment to brace herself for the next part. Emmrich was resting against her, shivering. His erratic breaths were hot against her neck. In the tight space between them, she could feel how his heart raced. He was drifting, somewhere outside of Rook’s reach.

She asked regardless of the fact, “Are you ready?”

Emmrich stayed quiet, glassy eyes unfocused.

“Yeah, me neither.”

With careful hands, Rook unbuttoned his shirt. His skin was smooth under her hands. Almost as soft as the shirt, Rook thought as she ran her fingers over the fabric. Something so delicate was probably expensive. He flinched when his bare back touched the wall again.

The socks were next. Then Rook found herself unfastening his pants.

Living the way she did, Rook had seen her fair share of naked bodies. It had never bothered her much. It was natural - nothing to be ashamed of. She hardly understood what the fuss was about, anyway. Rook was young, not naive. Not inexperienced, either. Why then, did this feel so different?

Stop being silly.

She shoved the confusing emotions and thoughts away as hard as she could.

Not the time or the place.

She helped Emmrich to his feet. It was a precarious balance, a bit unsteady, but with his arm around her shoulder and hers around his side, they made it work.

Emmrich flinched as he stepped into the tub. He inhaled harshly. The water splashed over the edge as Rook tried to guide Emmrich down. It soaked her pants. A pained moan escaped him, arms around her shoulder tight. One hand clenched in her shirt. Rook braced them as much as she could.

“Steady.”

She pushed on his shoulders in order to guide him down the rest of the way. For a moment, they struggled against each other. But he was sick, and she was stronger. The fight went out of him as fast as it had come. It left him trembling, face buried against her shoulder. There was a wet spot growing against her neck.

“Ir abelas,” Rook traced patterns over his skin until he calmed down.

The soap smelt pleasantly of rosemary and lemons. It was Rook’s new favourite. Something Lucanis had picked up for her on their first visit to the market. ‘The scent reminds me of the forest and a fresh summer’s breeze,’ he had told her. ‘Robust and spirited, like you.’ It never failed to calm her - she hoped it would be similar for him.

There was nothing else to do but wait for the water to cool him down. She worked the foam through his hair in soothing motions. Behind his ears, over his chin and neck. Emmrich sighed and closed his eyes. She scrubbed at his arms and his chest. He was breathing a bit easier now, slower. The shivering, too, had eased. With her hand splayed over his heart, she could feel it slowing.

“That’s better, isn’t it? Let’s get cleaned up some more, and then you can go back to bed. How’s that sound?”

He hummed, eyes still closed. Maybe it was wishful thinking - or full-on delusion - but he looked better. Not by much, but she still.

“Maybe a back massage? Harding showed me the other day,” she teased. In reality, Harding had scrubbed her back so hard Rook had been sure she would be unable to lie down for weeks.

Rook leaned forward, soapy washcloth in hand. She carefully pressed between his shoulder blades, down his spine. He leaned slightly forward, against her. It made her heart skip a beat. Rook carefully leaned into him. An almost hug of sorts. Wet salt-and-pepper hair against her nose. This was new and strange and … enchanting. Her hand dipped below the water, following his back.

Maybe once he’s better-

Emmrich howled. He went rigid, flinching forward hard, away from her hand. Rook scrambled to hold him. He kicked; she grabbed his shoulder. A stray elbow caught her cheek. Rook held tight. Emmrich’s head tugged against her chest.

What’s happening? Why is this happening?

The painful hold he had on her lessened slowly even though his breathing was still erratic.

“Emmrich?” Rook’s ears rang. “I don’t understand…”

His eyes were wide, face pale. If he could hear her, he sure wasn’t listening.

Everything had been okay. She had only - oh.

His back.

Rook pulled him forward. No more hiding, no more guesswork. She needed to see.

His back was pale - until it wasn’t. On his lower back - just above his hip. A dark discolouration the size of her hand. Hot to the touch and swollen. Emmrich made a keening sound when she carefully prodded at the edges.

###

Time was running away from her.

One moment Rook was holding on to a shaking necromancer in a bathtub; the next she was facing a bearded mage. She was dimly aware that Neve stood beside her, a delicate hand on Rook’s elbow.

“Infection,” the mage told her. His voice was strangely high and a bit weepy. A small part of her knew she was irrational - none of this was his fault - but still. His voice annoyed her.

“A wound that festered. From debris, trapped underneath the skin. Sepsis. I had to reopen the wound and clean it out. If the fever breaks soon, he is anticipated to make a full recovery.”

The mage - another necromancer Neve had brought with her - was looking at Rook. Like he was expecting something from her. She blinked at him. His beard was black and a bit wild. Someone had tried to braid it. Maybe someone who had never braided before - maybe someone who had never even seen a braid. That, she realised, annoyed her too. Rook stared at the beard and tried to remember why she was doing it.

“Thank you,” Neve said, voice smooth and even. The hand at her elbow squeezed hard.

She watched Neve accompany the healer back to the Eluvian.

Next to her, Taash hummed. “You, uh, okay there?”

“Fine,” Rook felt exhausted. Taash looked wholly unconvinced, arms folded before their chest.

The last couple of hours were nothing but a few blurry, almost incoherent memories. They had rushed into frantic action - getting Emmrich back to bed and finding help. For the last part, luck had been on their side. She had run into Neve and the healer on her way out.

At some point her friends had come back. Neve had filled them in - Rook had walked endless circles through the lighthouse. It was either moving or fully succumbing to her anxious energy. It irked her that she was not allowed to be with him while the healer was there. Yet, when she tried to imagine what the healer was doing, she felt relief at being not there. Shame fuelled her restlessness.

And now, that the healer was gone and nobody was forbidding her access, she found herself hesitant to go.

“Rook,” Lucanis’ soft voice caught her attention. “What do you want to do?” He was a steady presence in her storm. Close but not overwhelming. She was grateful for his company.

Want…

She wanted to see Emmrich. Reassure herself that he was okay now. She wanted to hide in her room. She wanted to sleep and not dream of Solas and his stupid soul-sucking prison. She wanted everything to go back to normal, go out, and find someone big to punch. Hard. Repeatably.

In the end her feet decided for her.

“Rook!” Bellara was curled up in Emmrich’s chair, a book open in her lap. She looked frazzled and tired but less worried and frantic.

All things considered,  Rook decided,  better.

“I’ve come to relieve you,” she said in lieu of a greeting.

“Uh, already? Are you sure? I can totally stay here. And Neve said she’d come by later and we would switch. So, it’s fine, really.”

“I’m sure.”

Emmrich was on his side, one arm extended before him. Like he was reaching out. Fast asleep, he looked peaceful. Rook was too tired, too emotional to pretend anymore.

His hand was still too warm but no longer burning. She crouched before his bed, tracing the lines of his palm.

Should have called for help days ago…

“Are you, like, alright? You look,” Bellara stopped for a moment before she finished her sentence, “sad. I think.”

“’m not sad. You’re missing,” she didn’t know if it was lunch or dinner or if Lucanis was just cooking regardless of the time. “Food,” she finished lamely.

With her face pressed against the edge of the mattress and her fingers pressed against the pulse point in his wrist, Rook settled down. The position took weight off her legs but was just uncomfortable enough for Rook not to fall asleep.

Bellara lingered for a moment. Rook could feel her eyes on her, the uncertainty palpable.

Or maybe it’s just all in my head. Like Solas.

The image of a very annoyed Solas, stuck with her anxieties, came to mind. Unbidden but maybe not entirely unwanted.

That, Rook decided as Bellara left them, was a somewhat comedic thought.

###

Finally, the rush left Rook.

There was no immediate danger. Her friends were all in the lighthouse, safe and sound. None of them had brought back any worrisome news from beyond the Eluvian.

Slowly, her head caught on to the realisation that they had - for the first time in weeks - found some respite.

Rook often relied on her instincts in the field. Especially in combat. They never had led her astray in such crucial moments. But she could acknowledge that it was not so in other aspects of her life.

Solas’ words were still close to her. There was truth in the things he had said, even if he liked to talk around his points or omit things to serve himself. She doubted he was outright lying to her. Despite the many stories of the Dreadwolf and his silver, twisting tongue, she felt they had come to some sort of understanding. Maybe even trust, even if it was brittle and reluctant.

Find my own way to help them on theirs. It does make sense, I guess.

The argument with Lucanis was only one point on the list that proved his point. Her own feelings and experiences with family had coloured her assessment of his family. She would have wanted someone to be blunt with her - so she had been blunt with him.

After Docktown, she had offered Neve support but had never pushed it on her. Had never tried to persuade her into accepting more help than Neve was willing to take on her own. And wasn’t it the same for Emmrich? He had clearly hidden something from her for days. She had seen him take that awful fall in the Wetlands. It had looked painful - and yet, she had let him quietly ignore it because…

Because that’s what I do,  Rook thought.  That’s how I handle my pain. Push it away; ignore it until it goes away.

She looked up at Emmrich. At his chin, his jaw slack in sleep. Finally free of the agony that had haunted him recently. Maybe the pain hadn’t been going away so much as it had been festering under the skin. For him, but also for Neve. For Rook herself.

Varric had told her to lead. That they would look to her and follow her if she was steadfast in her decisions. But maybe she had been too staunch, too ardent in her ways. Forever going forwards, through all obstacles. Headless of the price if the outcome seemed worth it. Looking at the greater picture and not seeing the details.

She had taken his lesson to heart. But, Rook thought, maybe she had never stopped to truly understand before she had acted upon it.

Rook had asked her friends to resolve their issues so they could help her do the impossible. And yet Rook had not stopped to take her own matters into consideration.

If I want them to follow, I need to lead by example.

###

Eventually, it was Neve’s uneven steps that brought her out of her thoughts.

Her friend crouched down next to her. One cool hand on Rook’s neck. A strange gesture for Neve. Intimidate them in a way they never were with each other.

“I’m not leaving,” Rook said, knowing she sounded obstinate.

Neve chuckled, like she had expected the argument.

“And I did not ask you to.”

“Yet?”

“Yet,” Neve confirmed. “But before you start, hear me out. Emmrich is healing. He does not need you to sit watch here.”

“I’m-“

“Not leaving,” Neve finished for her. Her tone wavering somewhere between long-suffering and affectionate. “Sitting here, it’s very sweet. You know? But think about it. Does it do any good? To him? To you? I’m saying it as I see it. You need sleep. Do you think Emmrich would approve of you sitting here on the floor?”

Neve was right; of course she was. Emmrich would probably be horrified to see how she was acting. But damn if she would give in this easily.

Next to her, Neve sighed deeply.

“Rook. Just get some sleep. You clearly need it.”

Finally, Rook raised her head enough to look over to Neve.

“If I can’t convince you to leave, at least let me persuade you to lie down and rest. And before you say it - I don’t talk about the floor. I’m sure Emmrich would not mind sharing with you.” An impish smile crept over Neve’s face.

“Again,” she added. “I’ll bring you breakfast in the morning.”

Neve left before Rook had time to feel undignified about the whole thing. With nothing else to do, she stripped out of her outer coat and crept into bed.

Curling around Emmrich again felt almost as good as finally laying her heavy body down. She wiggled a bit until his head rested against her shoulder, hugging him close.

“My mum cuddled me like this, sometimes,” she told him quietly. “She’s very affectionate when she wants to be. She’d sing, too. When I was little.”

Stretching her legs, the stress finally left her body. She felt drowsy.

“Elgara vallas, da’len,” Rook had never enjoyed singing, so she mumbled the words more than anything.

“Melava simniar.” She could barely recall the melody.

“Mala taren aravas.” It probably did not matter anyway.

“Ara ma’desen melar.” Rook closed her eyes, finally surrendering to sleep.

Chapter Text

The warmth was the first thing he noticed upon waking. It was gentle and enclosing, the hug of a mother or a well-known lover; the blanket was soft over his sore body. Which was the second thing he noticed: a lingering pain. It was somewhat numbed but still present. Aching muscles, heavy limbs, and his head felt strangely foggy. Even his eyes felt too leaden with sleep to open them. The effort too great for whatever reward there may be. There was a headache there, too. Somehow, the feeling weirdly disconnected from him.

Side effects of pain medicine, his brain provided after a long moment.

It was a clinical realisation, somewhat disconnected from him as well, with no real urgency behind it, and it left Emmrich as quickly as it had come.

Sleep was still close. And he certainly felt quite exhausted. Maybe he could indulge himself just this once. Relaxing into the soft sheets was awfully easy. His nose was half buried into his pillow as he took a deep breath and - lemons. Odd. Why would his bedding smell like lemons? And why was the scent so… familiar?

Emmrich took another deep breath. Vibrant, crisp, and slightly bitter lemons. But underneath, something else. Earthy and pungent. An aroma, Emmrich realised, that he had become deeply acquainted with. If only the blasted fog would lift enough to let him remember…

Dark brown hair, almost black, like the ebony desk in his study he spends so many hours behind. Slowly moving patterns of light and dark, filtering through the canopy of the trees above, painting the dark curls red. Lovely, heavy, hooded, amber eyes, smiling up at him as she’s telling some awful puns about hands and -

Emmrich jerked into real awareness. Rook!

It was dark inside the Lighthouse. He was in his room, the tall bookshelves surrounding his bed towering high above. The dark silk sheets of his bedding were tugged around him. The pillow, however, was distinctively not pillow-shaped. Not quite as soft as he remembered and much more colourful than anything he had ever owned.

Slowly, Emmrich became aware of two things: First, the pillow under his cheek moved. No, breathed. And second, someone was hugging him.

He froze for a moment, trying to work through these observations, making sense of what he remembered last and what he now perceived.

The lack of certainty, of real memories of what happened and how this situation had come to be, was a rather chilling revelation.

Looking up, he confirmed that he was - in fact - not alone.

Someone was indeed hugging him to their chest, their chin just above his forehead. Dark skin and intricate tattoos, lines flowing from her face following the slender neck; lines he had traced many times with his eyes, wishing he could follow them with his fingers. A few wild curls peeked around her neck and spilt over her shoulder.

Rook seemed to be deeply asleep, her breathing slow and even. Her arms were firmly curled around him, and now that he was more present in the moment, he could feel how their bodies pressed against each other in a hot line.

In his many years, Emmrich had taken his fair share of lovers. Some for a night, some for much longer. It was not the first time he had woken up in the embrace of another - far from it - but never had the moment felt quite so ambiguous.

Most likely because he had never woken up without remembering going to bed before.

Long minutes ticked by as Emmrich sorted through an assortment of half-faded memories and images that could be real memories or could have been dreams. Rook prominent in most of them. But if Emmrich was honest with himself, lately Rook had become a stable subject of not only his waking hours but also those he spent slumbering. Both the kind that was normal in the human mind to work through stressful situations - and fighting blighted gods certainly accounted as such - and the sort one needed a cold bath to banish from the lonely mind.

Better not to dwell on that last notion.

Emmrich swallowed the thought - a bitter mistake. All of a sudden he became aware of how dry his mouth felt, alongside the rather unpleasant feeling at the back of his throat. He coughed, teeth pressed against each other, trying to contain it in order to not disturb Rook.

No use.

Once the coughing started, it was out of his control.

It rattled his lungs, shaking his body, constricting his breathing.

It hurts.

Emmrich felt light-headed. And miserable.

Before he had any chance to worry about the sudden lack of oxygen - or the rapidly spinning room - Rook pushed herself up, pulling him upright with her.

Vertigo hit Emmrich, but the coughing fit eased.

“Breathe,” she instructed, voice rough from sleep.

He closed his eyes against the dizziness, against the pain, and followed her example. In and out, leaning heavily against Rook, he struggled for control.

“Here,” she pressed a cup in his hands once he had calmed down. “Drink slowly.”

It was tea. A strong blend with ginger and herbs. Someone had added a generous amount of honey to it. The tea had long gone cold, but it felt like a blessing against his sore throat.

Only Rook’s hand, which had never quite left the cup, prevented him from downing the whole thing in one go.

“Slow.” She took the tea from his shaking hands. “You don’t wanna get sick again.”

“Again?” Emmrich rasped.

Rook hummed, “You don’t remember?”

He did not, annoyingly so. “No.”

“That’s okay,” Rook soothed, but did not elaborate further. “You want to lie down again?”

Very much,  Emmrich thought. The simple act of sitting up quickly drained his energy. He was feeling sore all over, his back uncomfortably tight.

His thoughts lingered on the lack of recent memories. And on Rook, who was absently rubbing soothing circles against his side, obviously worried. Emmrich wanted to reassure her that he was better, now, that he was awake.

Am I?  He felt sluggish, his mind slow. The fog in his head thickening.

Before he could come up with an appropriate answer, Rook decided for him.

The pillow was cool against his skin. Emmrich groaned as he sank back into the mattress. Rook carefully pushed and pulled at him until he was back on his side, seemingly aware of the lingering pain in his lower back.

How?   He wondered, tiredly.

Above him, Rook yawned as she pulled at the blanket. Up close, Emmrich could see the dark bruises under her eyes. Her skin was unusually sallow, and her hair - unruly at the best of times - was a rough mess.

Had Rook forgone sleep because of whatever ailment had gotten the better of him? Surely, one of their friends would have intervened?

“Emmrich,” Rook nudged his shoulder. “Relax.”

“What-“ He started slowly as he tried to think through the onsetting drowsiness.

“Shh,” Rook soothed. To his utter disbelief, she lay back down, too. Next to him, this time, but just as close as before. In a gesture so far removed from her usual behaviour it made Emmrich wonder if he was dreaming the whole thing, she tugged herself tightly against him again. Drawing the blanket over them both.

“Ask later,” she yawned again and pressed her nose in his hair. “Go back to sleep.”

###

“Almost done,” Bellara mumbled, tugging the last bandage in place. She was kneeling behind him on the edge of his bed. Old bandages and a few bottles of potions and tinctures lay half forgotten around them. It was late into the morning, and the Fade bathed them in a soft light.

“How’s your back?” She asked as she helped him get back into his shirt. Her voice was conversational enough, but Emmrich could hear the slight nervous undercurrent in it. The same jittery energy that seemed to often possess Bellara in stressful social situations.

Emmrich made sure to look as reassuring as was possible in his current condition.

“Much better. Thanks to your attentive support, I am sure,” he praised. Encouraged, Bellara smiled back at him. The tip of her ears had turned a slight shade of red, though.

“Oh, I can’t take credit for it,” she said, rolling a healing potion in her hands. “I just helped.”

“Even so,” Emmrich laid a hand over hers in an effort to ease her nerves. “Thank you, Bellara. I truly appreciate all you have done.”

Bellara had been kind enough not only to look after his wounded back but also to bring him breakfast. Toast with jam, fruit, and tea. While he had eaten, she had roughly filled him in on what he had missed these last few days. It was a lot to take in and left Emmrich with a confusing mess of feelings. Primarily, a sense of shame and immense dread. The first, he knew, was all his own fault. He should have been more alert, should have caught the situation sooner, should have - well, been better. The second feeling, the dread, meanwhile... Emmrich shuddered at the mere thought of it. He was indisputably not ready to examine this closer. Maybe later. Maybe. Someday.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bellara asked quietly.

No, he thought, surprising himself with how bitter he felt about it.

“Of course, my dear girl,” he said instead. And then, before Bellara could muster the courage to challenge him in this obvious half-truth-if-not-outright-lie, he asked: “You said the team is out?”

“Oh,” Bellara stopped collecting her medical supplies. “Yeah. Uh. Lucanis said he had some business with the Crows, and Rook and Taash went with him. And Neve and Harding are in Docktown, checking in on one of Neve’s contacts. I think,” she paused for a moment, brow furrowed. “I’m not too sure about the last part; Neve was rather vague about it. But, you know. She’s Neve. So it’s probably an underworld contact or some informant or…” Bellara trailed off, a slightly puzzled look on her face.

“Uh,” she shrugged after a moment, “Anyway. Neve said they’d be back in a couple of hours.”

Emmrich hummed, swirling the remnants of his tea in its cup.

That answered at least part of the questions that had bothered him ever since he had woken up. Not the most pressing ones, but it was a start.

So that is where Rook vanished to, he thought. Following Lucanis back to whatever mayhem they had come back from just a few days ago. Emmrich vividly remembered the sheer amount of blood he had washed from Bellara. The abstract anxiety he had sensed in Rook that night. Knowing she had left to support their friend eased the strange fretfulness that had taken up place inside his chest ever since he had woken up alone.

Emmrich still hadn’t heard the full story of what had transpired in Treviso. But asking Bellara about it - reminding her of the pain and distress she had gone through - seemed unnecessarily cruel.

Still, there were questions Bellara could probably answer for him.

“And what about the others - are they expected back today as well?”

Bellara nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “She - they’ll be back tonight.”

Emmrich felt heat creep up unto his cheeks. Was he this conspicuous?

“Rook promised,” Bellara continued. “To be back soon, I mean. I think she wanted to stay, really.”

What?   That seemed out of character for Rook, who, for all he knew, had never missed a single opportunity to jump into action.

“Why would you think that is?” He asked curiously.

It seemed to be Bellara’s turn to feel uncomfortable about something. Her eyes suddenly glued to her own hands.

“Oh, I just. I guess,” she stressed the last word, “Rook’s worried about, well. Here. You. Uh.” She struggled a moment with her thoughts, nervously rolling a flask between her hands. “But. You know. That’s Rook, I guess, always thinking about anyone!”

“Bellara?” He enquired softly. “Is something the matter?”

“No! I mean. Uh, I kinda promised Rook? To, you know, not pry. Into. Well. Not that I would, pry, that is. But.” She took a gulping breath, shaking her head in what he imagined was frustration. “Sorry, that was really bad. I just think Rook was pretty worried for you and didn’t want to leave so quickly. That’s all. I swear!”

Emmrich was certain he was staring now. Rook had asked Bellara not to pry into - what, exactly? And why?

If he wanted to, Emmrich was certain he would be able to bring Bellara to tell him about this specific promise. The young mage was gifted in her craft, intelligent, most certainly driven - and a sweet character on top. But she was also, fundamentally, a people-pleaser. If he just pleaded his case - but no. That, too, felt unnecessarily cruel.

“And I believe you, Bellara,” he soothed.

Emmrich knew he carried many worries and fears through life - but he was not afraid to advocate for himself. Especially when it came to confronting Rook. Sure, she had the uncanny ability to blindside him - more often than not with her flirtatious remarks - and on rare occasions he had witnessed a downright frightening, unhinged side of her. But overall, Rook was reasonable, level-headed and honest. He would ask her and spare Bellara to break whatever promise she might have given.

Bellara timidly offered him the healing potion she had been playing with for the last few minutes.

“You should take this with your breakfast,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” Emmrich smiled at her. “Would you stay for another cup of tea? I fear I might have missed the latest conclusions of your experiment.”

“Oh!” A bright smile replaced Bellara’s sombre frown almost instantaneously. “Your books really helped! The other day, I tested the hypothesis on a Dalish artefact the Veil Jumpers recovered in Arlathan. And I think I may run into an anomaly?”

Falling back into the role of teacher was something familiar. Soothing, really. Particularly after the events of the last days.

With a warm cup of tea in hand and Bellara’s excited report to occupy his time and mind, Emmrich allowed himself to put his worries aside for now.

###

“Manfred!” The little skeleton fell easily into his arms. Oh, how he had missed his fledgling companion! And judging by the excessive hissing, the feeling seemed to be mutual.

“See, Manfred?” Davrin’s voice was as warm as the smile he sported. “Told you Emmrich would be alright, didn’t I?” Emmrich rubbed gentle circles into Manfred’s bony back, patiently waiting for Manfred to end the embrace in his own time.

“You are, aren’t you?” Davrin asked, after a moment, as he took a seat on the chair someone had dragged next to Emmrich’s bed.

“Davrin,” Emmrich greeted. “Yes, everything will be alright. In a day or two, at most, but not to worry.”

The mattress wobbled under him as Assan jumped the end of the bed. A moment later, Manfred timidly pulled away from Emmrich and scrambled up on the bed, too.

“Assan, down boy,” Davrin tried to shoo the griffon off. Halfheartedly, if Emmrich was honest. Assan, ignoring Davrin’s attempts at house-training him, flopped down on his side and buried his beak into the thick blanket.

“Ah, it’s alright,” Emmrich said. “The sheets need washing, anyway. It is no bother.”

While Davrin looked unconvinced, he left it at that and settled into the chair.

“I thought I’d bring Manfred around,” he explained. “He missed you.”

Emmrich blinked against the sudden moisture in his eyes. Poor Manfred, who was such a young soul, had probably been worried sick.

“Then I owe you my sincere gratitude!”

“Oh!” Davrin laughed. “Don’t even worry about it! Assan and Manfred kept themselves busy with their games. I hardly had to do anything.”

“It was nice, in a way,” he added before Emmrich could say anything. “I finally had time to work on my carvings.”

“For your bestiary, I suppose?” Emmrich was aware of Davrin’s ambitious side project.

The warden grinned at him. “Yeah! It’s coming along nicely. Rook offered to test my work in the field, but I'd rather have someone proofread first. Once I have a bit more text down.” He glanced at Emmrich, almost shyly.

“If you value the input of a scholarly, old necromancer, I would be honoured to offer my services.”

Davrin laughed at that, nodding. “That would be great! I’d wanted to ask you, anyway. It’s probably not remotely as academic as your books, but, well. I want it to be good, you know?”

“My dear Davrin, I am sure it will be an asset in every monster hunter’s repertoire.”

“Ah, I don’t know about that - tho, yeah. I’d like that!” Davrin looked a bit flustered at the compliment but also pleased. The young warden prided himself in his abilities and knowledge against monsters of all kinds – and rightfully so.

“That’s not really why I’m here, tho,” Davrin admitted after a moment of silence between them. An uneasy feeling crept up Emmrich’s spine at the quiet, doleful tone in Davrin’s voice.

“And why are you here?” Emmrich asked, his voice carefully even.

Davrin sighed. His eyes were fixed on Assan, but Emmrich could tell that his thoughts rested elsewhere.

“I wanted to,” Davrin started, slowly, choosing his words carefully, “Well, ask for your forgiveness, I suppose?”

What?   Emmrich blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“What for?”

“That you got hurt. On my watch. While doing favours for the Wardens, no less. That shouldn’t have happened.” Davrin’s voice was quiet and full of honest regret.

“Nonsense,” Emmrich tried to elevate Davrin’s feelings. “I am more than capable of standing my own ground in battle. It was a…” He trailed off, trying to find words to release Davrin of his misguided guilt while not revealing his own bitter feelings about the incident.

“An unfortunate mishap,” he settled on, trying not to linger too long on the memory.

Davrin hummed unhappily, “I don’t know. I feel guilty, anyway. Out there, I’m supposed to be your shield. And I didn’t even know…”

“Davrin, you have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“And what if it had been someone else?” Davrin looked up, his dark eyes shining suspiciously. “What if it had been Rook? How would you feel then?”

And wasn’t that a horrifying thought?  For a fleeting moment, Emmrich entertained the mental image. Rook, down in the muddy grounds of the Wetlands. Hurt. Rook, fevered and sick—

No,  Emmrich thought. If it had been Rook, he would have been there. To heal and support her. He had taken over the role of the dedicated healer in their group, and while it was lamentable that he had been the one to fall ill – effectively leaving them without a medic - the situation that had grown from him getting injured was also just an unfortunate side effect of this very fact.

But, while this was a valid argument, Emmrich recognised that it was not the point Davrin tried to make.

“While I would hate to see Rook hurt,” and he did, honestly; each time it happened, it frightened him more, “I know she, too, is experienced enough to make her own decisions in battle. And live with any consequences that might arise from them. And I know she, like I, would not want anyone else agonising over them.”

He made sure to catch Davrin’s eyes before he spoke the next words.

“Whatever happened, it was in no way any fault of yours. I understand that, while you valiantly protect us from the worst harm in combat, there is always the chance of something happening regardless. It is a risk I am willing to take. I believe Rook would feel the same way.”

Davrin broke eye contact, laughing wetly. “Yeah, got that right. She basically said the same about you.”

She had?  A strange, endearing warmth crept up in Emmrich’s chest. Of course, logically, he knew that Rook tended to agree with his viewpoints as often as he did with hers. But hearing that she knew him so well — it was endearing.

“Well,” he said, “Then I hope you consider our point.”

Our. The word echoed in his mind. It tugged at his lips, and he had to pull on himself not to smile like the fool he felt he was for it.

Davrin stayed with him long after, entertaining him with tales of Manfred and Assan, who, as it turned out, had gotten into a few rather mischievous adventures around the Lighthouse while Emmrich had been out of commission.

As the tension left Davrin’s shoulder, Emmrich found himself relaxing, too.

It was good, he thought, how he could rely on them to take care of Manfred. How easily this unlikely group of people had found it in themselves to include the gentle spirit in their ranks.

It did nothing to quell the ever-burning dread deep inside of him, which came with thoughts of his own demise. But it made it easier to ignore these thoughts, to shove them as far away from him as he ever could.

###

By evening, Emmrich found himself quite sick of his bed rest. Two good meals, followed by a few potions, had done wonders for his overall well-being. He still felt tired, maybe even sluggish at times, and the wound on his back stung whenever he moved too much, but there was also a certain restlessness that slowly crept up on him as the day dragged on.

Bellara had supplied him with a few of her novels but had vehemently forbidden him any of his own books. While certainly enticing in their own way, her books were hardly his usual reading material.

“Reading is fine for healing,” she had said in a surprisingly stern voice, “but only for entertainment. No work, sorry.”

Seeing as both Bellara and Manfred seemed determined to enforce this rule, Emmrich had quickly indulged them.

Just before supper, Harding knocked on his door. She was shortly followed by an older, short-bearded gentleman Emmrich was vaguely aware he had seen before in the Necropolis.

“Adalbert Salvian,” the mage said as he shook Emmrich’s hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, professor.”

“Likewise,” Emmrich replied, “Although, I imagine we have met before?”

Salvian smiled, nodding. “I tended to your wounds the other day. But we have met before, in a manner of speaking. I used to sit in on some of your seminars. But I did not have the chance to do so in quite some time. Regrettably so.”

Seeing as Emmrich distinctively lacked any memory of any doctor tending to his illness, he surmised he must recall the other's face from one of his lectures. It was hard, sometimes, to keep track of everyone attending his more popular lessons.

“If you guys are good here, I’ll leave you to it?” Harding chimed in. “Would you like to stay for supper, doctor?”

“Oh, what a lovely offer,” Salvian said with a wide smile as he put a leather bag down on the chair next to Emmrich’s bed. “Sadly, I must decline. I will have to return to the Necropolis soon to look after my other patients.”

Harding nodded. “Alright then, I’ll get you back quickly. No problem.”

As Harding left them, the doctor helped Emmrich out of his shirt and bandages.

“The incision is healing well,” he observed. “No signs of necrosis or lingering infection.”

With practised hands he inspected the injury. It hurt, but far less than Emmrich had feared.

“Any lingering pain?” Emmrich hummed affirmatively, and the doctor continued.

“That is to be expected. I will leave more potions, both for healing and for the pain. You should continue taking them for a couple of days even after the last symptoms have faded. Have your companions informed you of the details of your affliction?”

Bellara had. Still, she had been vague about some details. “Indeed, they have. But I would hear the verdict of a colleague, nonetheless.”

“Of course.” Salvian gently spread a thick salve over Emmrich’s back and unwound another roll of fresh bandages.

“Firstly, there is no trace of blight. Rest assured of that. The initial injury wasn’t too deep. I assume it had healed over quickly enough with a healing potion, but there was a bit of debris inside. Hence, the infection finally spread further. Which, in turn, resulted in the other symptoms, like the elevated fever and heart rate, confusion, and pain. We stopped the infection before it became truly dangerous. But I have to admit, it was a closer call than I would have liked.”

An odd sort of trepidation filled Emmrich upon hearing the full diagnosis. He had been aware of the infection, but Bellara’s delivery of the news had felt less — drastic.

“Sepsis?” His voice was husky, even to his own ears.

“We caught it in time,” Salvian soothed as he finished his work. “These things can happen. In my youth,” the doctor said, a wistful expression on his face, “I used to travel with a group of adventures. We used to encounter the occasional hairy situation. I understand how fieldwork is. Sometimes, small matters get out of hand quickly. An insignificant cut that festers suddenly, a fever that rages out of control. Your friends caught it in time. That is the important thing.”

Emmrich knew the doctor was placating him, and he tried not to linger on his own feelings of failure, but it was a struggle.

“In any case, I must advise you to let someone else check on any injuries you might acquire in the future. We can only heal and take care of others if we are taken care of in turn. Right?” Salvian said, making a gesture like he was about to stroke a much longer beard. He aborted the gesture, his smile suddenly turning rather awkward.

“Ah, I am still getting used to my new beard,” he muttered. “Evidently.”

“New?” Emmrich asked.

“Yes. Well, I used to wear it much longer. A family tradition of the men in my father’s lineage, you see. They all wore their beards in the old tradition, with long braids and beads. Rather inconvenient in my line of work, to be honest. Recently, I have been made aware of the fact that I-” He stopped for a moment, clearing his throat in a self-conscious way. “Do not excel at braiding. It was rather humbling.”

Emmrich blinked at his fellow mage, unsure what to do with this piece of information.

“Anyway,” Salvian carried on as he hurriedly pulled potions from his bag. “I should make my way back home before it gets too late. I previously noted down the potions you ought to take for your companions. At the present time, there is nothing on the plan I would change. Please, proceed to rest. If I can be of further assistance, do not hesitate to call on me.”

“Thank you,” Emmrich said, “I truly appreciate it.”

###

It was again Bellara who sat with him for supper. She sat cross-legged next to his bed, eating alongside him. The food was lovely: a couple of flatbreads with hummus and soft-boiled vegetables.

“Dalish,” Bellara supplied when he asked her. “Or something the Dalish I know would make often, anyway. I don’t know how traditional it actually is. But it’s easy enough to make.”

“It is delicious.” She blushed at the praise, a happy smile on her face.

After supper, he took his potions with tea. Bellara stayed, much to his delight. She sniffed her own tea, turning the cup thoughtfully between her hands.

“A special blend I came across in my youth,” Emmrich explained. “Infused spices, such as cinnamon, cloves, cardamom and ginger. One of the stronger teas in my collection, but one I always enjoyed for its bold flavours.”

“It’s so different from the teas I know,” Bellara said, taking a careful sip. “I like how spicy it is!”

“You can add honey or lemon, if you wish.”

“Maybe next time,” she held the tea close to her face, letting the warm steam hit her nose. “The Dalish make tea only from the herbs they collect themselves. So they are rather limited to mostly herbal teas.”

“The Dalish,” Emmrich repeated slowly. “Not your clan?”

“Oh, I didn’t grow up Dalish. I only started living with them when I was, I don’t know, ten or so? And then I joined the Veil Jumpers when I came of age. So, not really Dalish. Like Rook.”

He stopped at that, trying to remember if he had known this about her.

“She’s not Dalish, either?”

“No, I think her mum was? We haven’t really talked about it much. She dresses pretty Dalish, tho, doesn’t she?”

Emmrich nodded. Truthfully, he only had a rather rudimentary knowledge of the Dalish clans. As far as he could tell, Rook certainly not only dressed the part - she had a vast knowledge of the wilderness, spoke Elvish, and often referred to Dalish history and traditions.

“Did you know each other as Veil Jumpers?”

“No. I think she left by the time I joined? Or maybe a bit before. We kinda missed each other, I think. I certainly heard of her, tho.”

Another thing Emmrich was vaguely aware of: Rook’s more sudden departure with the Veil Jumpers. He had heard comments from other Veil Jumpers in Arlathan, but it had just never seemed to be appropriate to ask about them. In addition to it, Rook often appeared to be embarrassed or irritated by those comments, and Emmrich was unwilling to push her on the matter when it most likely did not matter in their own endeavours.

Bellara looked uncomfortable for a moment.

“Best ask her yourself,” she advised. “I don’t know the whole story, I think. Or only one side, at least. I think she wouldn’t mind telling you.”

Their conversation turned away from Rook and the Veil Jumpers after that. Emmrich had ventured deep enough into one of Bellara’s favourite novels to talk about the finer points of the plot, and Bellara delighted in the discussion.

By the time she had properly educated him on the rather convoluted backstory of the main protagonist — a young noblewoman who had found herself on a chase for a magical artefact to cure her beloved father from a magical malady of some sort — Emmrich’s medication had gotten the better of him. Sleep tugged heavily on him. So much so, that he barely objected as Bellara helped him lie down and pulled his blankets around him.

Soon after, he fell asleep to her quiet, “Rest well, professor”.

His dreams dragged him back into the Wetlands. Old winding cobble roads were leading him deep into the wilderness, past ruins of farming villages, ancient castles, and forgotten battlefields. He sensed the dead there, resting most uneasily; ancient warriors and their enemies, forever caught in death, who was and would forever be indifferent to their strife, their hopes, and aspirations.

Darkness surrounded him, thick and moving. A living thing, ancient and hungering.

And within it, he slowly realised, something moved.

Something just as old.

And evil.

Emmrich shivered and hurried along. Or tried to. For some reason the road beneath his feet would not move — and that was wrong in itself, wasn’t it? — and a sudden feeling of impending doom befell him.

Was that a noise, right behind him? Was something moving, to his left, just at the edge of his vision? What —

A warm hand, right between his shoulder blades, startled Emmrich awake.

It was dark, and he was in his bed, tangled in his blanket. Slowly, as the remnants of his dream bled away, he became more aware.

His breathing was harsh and fast, puffing hot against his pillow. The shirt he was wearing felt wet against his cold skin while he felt simultaneously burning hot. And sick. He could not have slept for long; he was exhausted and clearly still under the influence of the pain medication. Thoughts and limps equally heavy and slow.

Lastly, he realised that he was, once again, not alone.

The hand on his back had not moved, a steady anchor in the dark.

“Rook,” he rasped without thinking.

“Emmrich,” she answered, close behind him. “It was just a dream.”

“A nightmare,” his voice felt strange, the words not really belonging to him.

Rook shifted, sitting up behind him, as she slowly answered. “Yes, but it’s gone now. You’re okay. Home. Safe and sound with me.”

Panic bubbled up inside him as he realised that she was slipping from the bed.

“Stay,” it was barely more than a whisper, desperate and fearful.

“Shh,” Rook grasped his shoulder for a moment, warm and reassuring. “I’ll only get some water. I’m not leaving, okay? I’m right here.”

He listened to her bare feet on the stone floor, walking around the room.

A moment later, she returned to his side.

“Sit up,” she prompted, already pulling carefully at his shoulder.

He gladly drank the cool water she gave him and, afterwards, let her take away the glass.

It was confusing – the fact that Rook was here, the remnants of his dreams, his jumbled memories… One moment he blinked into the darkness; the next, Rook was unbuttoning his shirt. Without it, he shivered in the cold air.

His head hurt, and he closed his eyes against it.

“It’s probably a bit cold,” Rook murmured, “but it’ll help in a moment. Okay? Do you trust me?”

He did. With his life - on the battlefield as well as whatever this was. So, unable to put into words that he trusted her to the point of being unreasonable, he nodded.

A moment later, a wet flannel wiped at his face, and Emmrich jumped slightly, gasping.

Rook had been right; it was cold. Freezing, even.

Undisturbed, Rook wiped the sweat first from his face, then his neck, and worked her way down his back and chest. Under her tender attention, the tension and fear slowly left his body. By the time she wrestled him into a new shirt, he was closer to sleep than wakefulness.

As Rook helped him down again and settled next to him, he numbly wondered when she had come back. And why she had found it necessary to spend another night watching over him. Not that he wasn’t grateful for it. He was, more than he could admit even to himself.

“Fever?” He slurred, trying to ask a question he was only half aware of himself.

Rook, who had pulled Emmrich against her, his face on her shoulder, carefully cupped the back of his head in her hand.

“Let me check,” she said softly, something akin to a smile in her voice. She leaned impossibly closer, and his heart skipped at least two beats as her soft lips brushed his forehead. “Maybe a bit,” she continued. “Nothing to worry about. You’re still sick. That’s okay. It’ll be better in the morning. Go back to sleep; I’ll keep you safe.”

Exhausted and already mostly asleep, he obliged. Unworried. She had promised, after all. And that was enough for Emmrich.

Chapter Text

Time had eaten away many of Emmrich’s childhood memories. Bright pictures that had dulled into a soft assortment of snapshots with fuzzy edges. He remembered the soft hands of his mother, his father’s deep voice. But with each passing year it became harder to recall other details: how his mother’s embrace felt, the details of his father’s face.

Yet, some things had prevailed. The love for teas his father had instilled in him. The comfort his mother had found between the pages of a book now lived in him. Another thing was the fondness of early mornings he had experienced as a young boy. Emmrich imagined his parents had been early risers by necessity; his father had been a butcher, his mother a cook. He had been too young to ever ask them, but he remembered these early hours of the day with the fondness that childhood memories often brought.

Waking up from sleep on this particular morning stood in contrast to his usual habits.

Emmrich took an extended moment to gather himself. The last lingering remnants of sickness and potions dulled his senses. But while he was indeed still quite tired, it was no match for the bone-tired exhaustion he had felt the evening before. He felt warm and content, the pain pushed far away for the moment.

Better , he thought. Much better, all things considered.

He listened to the quiet noises of the Lighthouse - the gentle buzz of the ever-present magic, a dull metallic noise he knew came from one of the Lighthouse’s strange gadgets, and a soft snoring right next to his shoulder.

Odd, that.

He blinked his eyes open, taking in the soft light of the early morning, and turned slightly.

Next to him, nose squashed against his shoulder, slept Rook. She had both of her arms curled around one of his, her fingers curled into his shirt - the shirt she had helped him into. Slowly, the memory of the last night came back to him. And with it came a tangled jumble of emotions. Embarrassment at his own weakness was quickly buried under the immense gratitude and hot wave of sheer fondness that followed.

He knew Rook to be kind and, at times, gentle. There was no doubt in Emmrich’s mind that Rook would help all of their companions if required - but he also knew she preferred others to take over the role of healer and nurse. Tactile was not a word he would use to describe her.

And yet…

With his free arm he reached out and carefully pushed some hair from her face. She was young - Emmrich was painfully aware of the fact just how young she was - but somehow this was the first time the fact truly hit him. Sleep softened her in a way he had not yet witnessed before. Rook looked unburdened by the many responsibilities she took on so willingly. And free of the many worries he knew she carried with her.

Her hair was soft but tangled. Almost matted in places. Together with the dark circles under her eyes, it painted a picture that stirred concern in Emmrich. Rook was not vain, but she had always taken care of herself. He could tell that she had not done so in quite some days.

Was he the cause of this? An uncomfortable thought. And downright inexcusable. Had none of their friends seen? He could hardly imagine they would have just ignored Rook neglecting herself. Had she forgone only her self-care and missed out on sleep? Or was there more? It made his skin itch.

Emmrich resolved to mend this. He could not yet join her in the field - no matter how much he wanted to do so - but he could look out for her in other ways.

Rook did not so much as twitch as he slipped from her grasp. Behind the sanctuary of his bed, Manfred greeted him.

“My boy,” Emmrich clasped the skeleton’s hands as Manfred hissed happily at him.

“Rook is still asleep, and we mustn’t wake her just yet,” he kept his voice a low whisper, and Manfred, ever the attentive student, followed his example immediately.

While Manfred busied himself brewing some pre-breakfast tea, Emmrich carefully explored the capacity of his healing body. His muscles were stiff from days of bed-rest, and his back still felt tight and somewhat painful, but overall Emmrich felt pleasantly surprised how easy it was to fall back into his morning routine. He stretched carefully his arms and legs, his neck and shoulders. Blood pumping, his spirits rising, Emmrich felt more himself than he had in — too long.

Maybe since…

He shook himself out of his wandering thoughts as Manfred shoved a cup of tea in his face.

“Oh,” Emmrich accepted the offering gratefully, “Thank you! How wonderful. Tea and a book on the balcony – what do you think, my boy? Care to join me?”

Four pages and half a cup of tea later, he admitted defeat to his drifting thoughts.

Much had transpired over the last week. Emmrich supposed it was only natural that his thoughts were circling back to these events. They probably would do so for a while to come. It was, of course, not the first time something had gone south in the field. That, Emmrich reasoned, was probably natural as well. It was disappointing, surely; maybe even a bit humiliating. Nevertheless, it was not, as the saying went, the end of the world. Eventually, he would have to analyse what exactly had gone wrong and what he could have done better. And then he would go out there and do better. Hopefully.

Underneath this was a thought so dark, so deeply rooted within him, that he was afraid to even acknowledge it. It was also, sadly, a very familiar thought. Neither Bellara nor the good doctor had outright said so, but Emmrich knew how to read between the lines; he had a solid understanding of how close he had come to - his demise.

Emmrich shuddered and closed his book.

Not a thought he wanted to pursue any time soon. Or at all. Maybe, then, it was lucky that he barely remembered what had transpired. It was still all jumbled pictures, out of order, and emotionally detached from him. For the most part, at least. He recalled feeling incredibly sick, of course. He was reasonably certain that Bellara had been with him for some of it. Neve, too. And there was one fuzzy memory of Lucanis and some sort of … soup?

The one stable thing he remembered was Rook’s present. Solid and reliable as ever, she had been around each time he had woken up. He remembered her warm hands, the gentle way she had cared for him. It was a side of her he had not seen before. One he would not have even assumed she possessed.

Emmrich admired her spirit, the bravery she showed in the face of their many enemies, and her single-minded approach to their mission. On occasions, he could even appreciate her blunt, borderline offensive approach to communication. From the very start, she had been a fierce leader. And quickly she had become a dear friend as well.

And he should not have let it go beyond that. No matter how endearing her advances were, how charming her companionship, or how much his heart ached whenever she reached for him. She needed guidance more than his affection. He could see it now, in her untamed hair and the bruises below her eyes. In the way she had clearly exhausted herself over him. How she was still doing it.

Emmrich knew what he had to do. Rook needed to return her focus on what truly mattered. Best to rip the band-aid off quickly. For her sake as much as his own. Maybe once it was done, he could overcome this ill-fated adoration.

Careful not to disturb her just yet, Emmrich sat down next to Rook. She was curled around his pillow, hair pooling around her. Relaxed and untroubled. The soft morning light danced across her face, caught in her long eyelashes and at the top of slender ears. She made a soft noise in her sleep, and he watched how the tattoos on her face moved as she frowned.

For a moment, he wanted her to stay. In his bed, by his side, in his life - forever. He tried to imagine it; his accommodations in the Necropolis were certainly large enough for a spouse. The Necropolis was vast enough for her to explore for years to come. His fellow necromancers and Mourn Watchers would be pleased to welcome another into their home. And Manfred… Manfred would be overjoyed to share his life with Rook. As would Emmrich.

But no matter how hard he tried to let the image come to life, it would not take shape. Like a smudged painting, the colours bleeding into each other, it stayed fuzzy. Rook was so full of life - and so young, that she had a myriad years of living still before her - he could not imagine her down in the Necropolis, among the dead. He lived the life of a scholar, amidst books and scrolls and the ghosts of the departed. And she thrived under the sun, in the heat of action, between one adventure and the next. They were polar opposites, and he could not even bear the thought of dragging her down into the sombre darkness he had called home all his life. Besides, what would people think? That he was an old lecher, preying on a young hero. It would only tarnish her reputation.

It was a pipe dream, an infatuation that had gotten out of hand - and nothing more. Best not to dwell on it any longer.

“Rook,” he kept his voice light despite the sinking feeling in his stomach. “It’s time to wake up.”

It’s time to stop dreaming.

She grumbled to herself, and he reached out; gently touched her shoulder until she woke.

“Wh’ time,” Rook slurred, eyes barely open.

“Almost time for breakfast, I believe.”

She groaned but nodded and slowly pushed herself up.

“Hi,” Rook muttered after a moment.

Despite the conflicting feelings he was wrestling with, he could not help but smile at her: “Good morning, Rook.”

And it was worth it when she returned his smile. That lopsided grin he had come to cherish so deeply. Her eyes so dark and lovely…

No, stop.

“Rook, I know this may not be the most befitting time, but I think we need to talk.”

She blinked at him, clearly caught off guard and still heavy with sleep, but he went on before the little courage he had gathered could leave him.

“Words, I fear, are not enough to express how highly I appreciate your support and kindness these last days,” he began, “I want to thank you again. For all of it.”

“Oh,” Rook clumsily took his hand and squeezed. “Okay.”

“And,” he gathered her small hand between his in turn, “your diligent attention has paid off. I believe it will no longer be necessary for you to spend your nights keeping watch.”

There, it was done. For a long, dreadful moment, she just stared at him. Her smile had dimmed but had not left her completely.

“I-“ Emmrich cleared his throat awkwardly. “Do you… did you-“

Rook interrupted him. “Understood, yeah.”

“Oh. Good. That is… good.”

Smooth , Emmrich thought, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. And frustrated. He had hoped he would feel relief once they had settled this matter. Instead, he felt strangely empty. Like he had lost something or had let it go, only to immediately miss it dearly.

She was never yours to begin with , he reminded himself.

“You okay?” Rook asked, barely concealing a yawn.

“Oh, of course. Are you?”

Rook hummed, her shoulders hunched, eyes closed. She looked exhausted. And … sad? As if Emmrich had needed another thing to feel guilty about.

When he made to reach out for her shoulder, unsure if she would welcome his attempt at comforting her, Emmrich realised that they were still holding hands. Rook had made no effort to pull away from him. In fact, she was still holding on to him.

She recovered before he did. With a determined look in her eyes, she squared her shoulders, looking up at him again.

“Emmrich, I wanted-“

“ROOK!” Taash’s booming voice from outside the room made them both jump. “YOU UP? LET’S GO!”

“What?”

“Oh,” Rook let go of his hand, rubbing her face, yawning again. “I promised them to, uh, meet their mother. For, uh, food. It’s hard to explain.” She rolled her shoulders and gave him another tired smile.

“Let’s talk later?”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

###

The kitchen smelt of freshly brewed coffee and warm bread. A platter full of fruit and thinly sliced vegetables sat on the table next to a tray of cheese. Lucanis stood to the side, a cup in hand, while Neve and Davrin were seated at the big table they used for meals. Lucanis grinned at Emmrich as he entered, lightly toasting to him.

“Emmrich!” Davrin kicked the chair next to him back, inviting Emmrich to sit down. “Good to see you!” He was smiling wide. Under the table, Assan chirped loudly.

“It is good to see you,” Neve agreed from her place on the other side of the table. She was holding a newspaper and a steaming mug in front of her. “How are you doing today?”

Emmrich took the place next to Davrin, grateful for the normalcy.

“Good. Much improved, indeed.”

“Tea, then?” Lucanis asked as he refilled Davrin’s mug with coffee. “I think we restocked the one you sampled at the market last time we visited.”

“That would be much appreciated.”

“Rook’s off with Taash?” Davrin suddenly asked, and Emmrich froze, uncertain if Davrin had addressed him or the room in general. Did their friends know Rook had spent her nights in his room?

Neve came to his rescue, answering the question without looking up from her papers.

“Yes. Taash said they needed to check in with the Lords first. That’s why they went so early.”

“Poor Rook.” Davrin sounded amused. “Another early morning for her.”

“And no nap time today, too,” Lucanis added playfully.

Before Emmrich had the chance to feel offended on Rook’s behalf, Neve glanced at him over the rim of the newspaper.

“There might be a chance for some naps yet,” she said. “Taash said they knew a quiet place at the beach. They planned to show Rook around and spent some time by the sea.”

Davrin nudged the plate of toasts closer to Emmrich and helped himself to some scrambled eggs.

“Well, Harding and Bellara are off, too,” Davrin said, “Any other plans for today?”

Lucanis yawned, “Nothing noteworthy.”

“Since we have nothing else planned, maybe this is a good opportunity for some quiet time. Getting our strength back.” Neve put down her newspaper, turning towards Lucanis, who raised an eyebrow over his coffee cup. “Maybe some Rook-endorsed nap.”

“Neve-“

“I think that’s a great idea. You look awfully tired.” That earned Davrin a dark look from Lucanis. “Sorry. Just saying.”

“That’s two against one. Emmrich?”

It was hard not to squirm at least a little under Neve’s clever eyes.

“Well,” Emmrich said slowly, buying himself some time. He had to agree with Davrin; Lucanis did look quite fatigued. Still, he found himself sympathising with Lucanis’ unwillingness to rest. Especially in light of recent events.

“Don’t drag him into this, Neve,” Lucanis muttered.

Davrin snorted, “It’s still two against one, then. I’ll get my wood carving utensils, then we can set up watch!”

Lucanis groaned and rolled his eyes, but Emmrich could see the fond smile he was hiding behind the gesture.

“Alright, but first, please - finish breakfast.”

After eating, they retreated to the small sitting area of the kitchen. Lucanis had vehemently declined any offers from Emmrich to help with the dishes. Instead, he had pushed another cup of tea into his hands and told him to keep Neve company.

“So,” Neve said as Emmrich sat down next to her. “How are you doing?”

“Better. I should be restored back to full health in a few days.”

She nodded, but there was a frown on her face that told him she was not fully convinced.

“How is Rook feeling about that? I suppose you had the opportunity to address the matter with her, seeing as she spends all her spare time over.”

She was sporting a sly, knowing smile. There really was no hiding from the detective. So they did know about Rook’s new sleeping habits.

“I… do not know.”

She raised one delicate eyebrow at him, prompting him to elaborate.

“I only brought up the matter this morning, right before Rook had to head out. We did not have much time to discuss it further. If she had any reservations about it, she did not voice them.” And, before Neve could further bring Rook’s opinion into question, he added. “And I should think I am well and able, qualified to make this decision myself.”

He cringed at his own sharp tone - harsher than he had intended - but Neve’s smile never wavered.

“Well, I for one will be very glad to have you back in the field with us.” She leaned forward, nudging his shoulder. “And I’m sure Rook will, too. Just keep it slow and easy. For her sake.”

“Why-“ Before Emmrich could ask, Davrin put down a plate full of cookies, fruits, and nuts in front of them.

“Snack?”

“We just ate,” Neve said, equally amused and long-suffering.

Davrin laughed. “Yeah. Food. These are snacks!” He flopped down opposite them, grinning.

“Snacks are food,” Emmrich pointed out, but Davrin’s grin just grew.

“Not even remotely the same! Anyway, Neve’s right. Don’t wanna have Rook go off the deep end again.”

“Go off-“

“Davrin,” Neve said sharply. “Don’t listen to him, Emmrich. Rook had the situation handled.” She shot Davrin a glance when he opened his mouth, supposedly to argue. Davrin had the decency to look away sheepishly, the tip of his ears darkening. “Afterwards, she took a moment to… recuperate. Nothing more to it.”

Neve leaned back, arms crossed, and frowned at Davrin.

“Right?”

“Uh,” Davrin rubbed his neck, “Yeah. She was just … stressed. It’s fine now, anyway.”

“I’ve noticed,” Emmrich sighed, “The stress. Poor girl, I’m glad she agreed to stop spending her nights to check in on me.”

He had meant to reassure them. Instead, Davrin went stiff, looking wide-eyed between Emmrich and Neve, who coughed uncomfortably.

Odd. Davrin avoided his eyes, but Neve gave him a tight smile when he turned to her.

“Am I missing something?”

Neve sighed deeply.

###

Nightfall caught Emmrich by surprise. He had spent the better part of the day with Neve and Davrin chatting. Lunch was a quiet affair; Lucanis had slept through it all together, and, because the potion Emmrich took dutifully with his meal as prescribed made him drowsy, conversation was slow. Afterwards, Neve had somehow managed to usher Emmrich to his rooms. It was a bit of a blur; one moment he had tried to talk Davrin into letting him do the dishes - he had already not participated in providing breakfast, and Emmrich felt it only fair that they let him do lunch - the next, he was in the laboratory taking a nap.

Waking up was slow. There was a moment, between sleep and awareness, where he reached out without thinking. But instead of another warm presence, there was only empty space. Ever since he had talked with Rook this morning, he felt strangely unmoored. It had only been a couple of days - but he had come to expect her presence. It was silly. And unbecoming of their relationship. She was their team leader; she looked to him for advice often; she was so much younger… it was better this way, Emmrich reminded himself.

He knew this. In time, his heart would catch on to this fact.

Healing, he knew, was not a linear progression. For body and mind. And despite sleeping away half the day, he felt exhausted. For a few long minutes, he gazed up at his ceiling, contemplating just staying in bed. It was getting late, and the bath he had planned on taking suddenly seemed like an impossible task.

Maybe just a shave, then.

He knew he was sporting the most dowdy stubble…

The shaving kit was exactly where he had left it, and Emmrich sat down in front of the fireplace with it. The leather case was heavy in his hands, but also familiar. Shaving was more than taking care of his appearance for Emmrich; it was a ritual. A soothing routine he suddenly realised he had missed. Emmrich traced the texture of the leather with his fingers. Once he had come of age in the Mourn Watch, he had spent his first earnings on this very kit. It had been ridiculously expensive for a young mage - but he had been unable to resist. The straight razor with its slender wooden handle, dark and decorated with fine carvings, and the matching leather case looked almost identical to a prized set his father had owned.

His father’s set had been lost - same as almost all his parent’s possessions - in the life-altering incident that had taken his parents from him. Emmrich’s father had never had the chance to teach his son how to shave. But Emmrich felt connected to him in this small way.

It always managed to bring him peace in times of unrest.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts. Emmrich jumped, letting go of his shaving kit.

Slender hands caught the bag midair.

“Sorry,” Rook said, eyes wide. She, too, looked startled. “I- I was calling your name. Are you alright?”

His racing heart hammered against his ribs. Emmrich took a calming breath, one hand pressed against his chest. “Rook!”

“I’m really sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

She was biting her lower lip, a genuinely apologetic expression on her face.

“Don’t worry,” Emmrich straightened in his seat. “Did you just return?”

As he calmed himself, Emmrich took a moment to look Rook over. No visible injuries, no signs of a fight. She looked calmer, less worried and stretched thin. Still in desperate need of a few good nights of sleep but more put-together than before. Seeing her relaxed was calming, Emmrich thought.

“Yeah. The day was - uh - mostly easygoing. How was yours?”

Emmrich yawned, unable to help himself. “Excuse me.” He took another deep breath. “Pleasantly quiet. What happened in Rivain?”

Rook shrugged, crouched down next to him, her sharp eyes never leaving him. She was frowning now, the shaving kit still in her hands. Emmrich recognised the look. Ordinarily it was a good indicator that Rook was about to commit to one of her impromptu plans. From experience he knew there was nothing to derail her from whatever had come to her mind. Best to let it play out.

“Stay here,” she said suddenly, already jumping to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”

She went as quickly as she had come, leaving behind a rapidly darkening room. The laboratory felt strangely empty without her. However, before Emmrich could dissect the feeling, Rook returned. And not empty-handed.

She was carrying a wooden bowl, a towel slung over her shoulder. As she put the bowl down next to him, he could see that it was filled with steaming water. And Emmrich realised what she meant to do.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Rook said quietly, soaking a small towel in the water. “But I want to.”

Without his consent, and despite his best effort to quell it, warmth blossomed in his chest. His eyes were burning, and Emmrich tried to blink the sensation away.

His voice was husky when he asked, “Do you even know how to do that?”

She snorted, the familiar grin on her face. “I’ve been travelling with Varric long enough. And it’s not exactly complicated.” She reached up and gently dabbed at his beard with the wetted towel. The warm cloth against his face felt heavenly. “I’m also pretty handy with a knife.”

He watched as she opened the kit and soaked the brush in the water. Rook opened the soap and sniffed it. Her brows slightly furrowed, eyes curious - Emmrich found himself staring once again. A soft smile appeared on her lips.

“What?” He asked, unexpectedly bashful.

“It smells nice.” There was a spark in her eyes he had not seen in a while, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “Just like you.”

Emmrich felt his thoughts going blank as they so often did in the wake of her advances.

“Sorry,” Rook glanced sheepishly at him. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You… you didn’t.”

She had lathered up the brush and motioned for him to tilt his head back.

“Still.” The brush was soft against his skin. But not as soft as her fingers, ghosting over his chin and neck. They left goosebumps on his skin. Emmrich closed his eyes and concentrated on not shivering after each touch.

This was confusingly new and strange. And wholly improper. But not unpleasant.

He should stop her. But Emmrich was tired, and closing his eyes had been a mistake - it felt near impossible to open them again.

“Rook.”

“Shh. Just relax.”

The razor was sharp enough not to tug on his skin. She had one hand against his neck, ostensibly to steady his head. Her finger ghosted against his throat. Rook was working leisurely, with great care, and humming a slow melody he knew he had heard before but could not place. It was soothing and -

“Emmrich,” he blinked, dazed. “You fell asleep.”

That was Rook. It was dark, he realised. She had one hand against his cheek, her thumb rubbing slow circles. Smiling fondly at him as he blinked awake.

Oh.

“Sorry,” he mumbled through the fog in his head.

She laughed. “Lets go to bed.”

It was late, and he was ready to call it a day, anyway. So he went easily. Emmrich listened to Rook moving around while he changed. She had insisted on cleaning up. And there was simply no arguing with Rook when she had put her mind behind something.

Choose your battles wisely. It was a saying his first mentor in the Mourn Watch had instilled in him.

His pillow was nice and cold. Listening to Rook, who had started a slightly one-sided conversation with Manfred, turned out to be rather soothing. Maybe he could close his eyes for a moment. Only until Rook was done cleaning, of course.

The mattress moving under him jerked Emmrich awake a second time.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” Rook mumbled somewhere to his left. “Again. Sorry.”

“’s alright.” It was hard to think through his drowsiness. The room was dark and quiet.

Rook pulled at his blanket, and for a moment Emmrich tried to figure out what she was doing. It became clear a moment later when she curled against his side.

“Rook?”

She hummed. One warm hand landed against his side, fingers loosely curled into his shirt. Like she was holding on to him… For a moment, he wanted to leave it. Let her do as she wished. Unfortunately, it was not the right thing to do.

“Do you remember our conversation? This morning.”

Rook hummed again.

“Rook-“

“You said I don’t have to stay here at night.”

“Indeed.”

She stayed quiet for a long moment. “But what if I want to?”

What? Emmrich turned slightly to look at her. It was hard to see in the low light, but he could make out enough. She was looking at his shoulder, eyes barely open. Face soft and open. Vulnerable.

Their eyes met for a moment when she glanced up at him.

“I want to. Stay with you, that is. I… I sleep better.”

Emmrich tried to come up with something - anything - to say. Tried, and failed.

“Makes me feel-,” she, too, seemed at a loss of words for a moment. Until she grunted out, “Safe.”

“Rook?”

“But, if you want me to… I can just-“

She kept eye contact. And for a few seconds, he saw beyond the brave and sometimes aloof facade Rook put on for the world. The young woman beneath looked determined but uncertain. Not fragile, not precisely, but unguarded. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. And Rook pulled away.

She let go of his arm, untangling herself from him.

“No!” It was pure impulse. He grabbed her shoulder, and she stilled immediately. He was dimly aware of a wave of embarrassment that caught him. Surely, if he were more awake, he would have never been so impulsive. But his brain was half convinced that he was dreaming. And if he wasn’t - well, this felt important.

“No,” he repeated, softer. “Please. If it… please stay.”

It was worth it. Slowly, a lovely smile spread over her face. She returned to his side, and it was Emmrich this time who pulled the blanket over them.

“Rook,” she nuzzled her nose against his shoulder, and he turned towards her. “I am honoured that you feel safe with me.” Her shoulder felt small under his hand. And tense.

“I do not mean to assume. But does this imply you do not feel safe otherwise?”

“No. It’s… not like that. Can we,” Rook took a shaky breath. “Can we talk about that tomorrow?”

Her voice was so quiet, and her grasp of him felt almost desperate.

“Of course, Rook.”

Whatever you want.

She curled closer to him. “Sleep tight.”

###

It was still early when Emmrich woke. He had stayed awake for what had felt like hours, watching Rook. They had not talked, and she had kept her eyes closed - but with his hand on her shoulder, he had been able to tell that she, too, had not fallen asleep for a long time. It worried him. Her behaviour, her words. So unlike the dauntless person he had come to… care for.

What a mess everything was.

“Morning,” Rook mumbled suddenly. He turned, looking her over. She looked awfully tired. But awake.

“I guess you wanna talk?” Rook pushed herself up. She rubbed a hand over her face, yawning.

“Yes.” He felt guilty about it. She looked tired. “Sorry.”

Whatever reaction he had expected, she surprised him once again when she laughed.

“No, I guess it’s only appropriate. Should have done it earlier, anyway.”

Emmrich sat up, too. It felt awkward having such a delicate conversation while sitting in his bed with her. But he knew the moment their companions woke, Rook would be pulled away from him again. It was inevitable.

“Yesterday-“

“Emmrich,” Rook interrupted him, voice urgent. “Let me go first, please. I… I’ve wanted to say something for - a while. At least, I’ve been thinking about it. A lot.”

He gestured for her to continue, and Rook took a deep breath. Her hands were twisting the blanket between them, and Emmrich had to fight the urge to take them between his.

“Recently, I’ve talked to- Wait,” she shook her head. “Let me start over. I’m not so good with words. And… Well, it’s - hard.”

“Rook-“

“No, please. If I stop now, I may never,” she hunched her shoulders. “Anyway. I’ve never done anything like this. With the whole blight and ancient gods, I mean. And it’s… sometimes overwhelming. But I also never expected to meet so many people I’d grow close to. So many - friends, I guess. And everything is so complicated.”

She was looking at anything but him.

“But I truly think we can do this. I do!” She caught his eyes, and he saw the steel underneath her nervousness. “It just went all so wrong lately. With Weisshaupt. And Dock Town. And…” She gestured loosely around herself.

“Me?”

“Well, yes. But I meant everyone, really. But you know all that. We had a whole meeting and everything.”

Emmrich smiled. “Yes,” he agreed. “We had.” She had tasked them all to find the resolve they needed to finish their ultimate goal. A reasonable, if demanding, task. One he had not yet figured out for himself.

“Rook, of course I remember. I’m sorry, but I do not follow how this connects.”

“I talked it over. With… Solas.”

Ah, he thought distantly, there it is.

His stomach dropped. The Dread Wolf. He had never met the elf himself, but he had heard stories. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was like for Rook - having Solas in her mind, her dreams. What influence he could have. A most worrisome thought.

“I know,” her voice was stilted. “It’s complicated. And probably hard to understand. But he - helped.”

“Helped? How?”

“I’ve asked all of you to do so much. But I never did the work myself. I want to make him proud. Varric, I mean. Not Solas.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Solas is right, tho. I can’t expect you to do something I’m not willing to do myself. So, this is me, I guess. Doing the work.”

She rolled her shoulders, looking up. Straight into his eyes.

“I’ve gotta tell you something. I know it’s not… the proper way. But I can’t think of anything else lately. And I cannot not tell you. I - I don’t expect you to say anything, tho. If you don’t want to, that is. Just. I need you to know. Will you hear me out?”

Dread was sitting somewhere in his stomach, slowly creeping up his throat.

“Darling… Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Rook winced. She made a sound he had never heard before. Something between a sob and a laugh.

“You haven’t,” she trailed off and shook her head. To his horror, he realised she was crying. A few slow, silent tears. He felt his heart break for her.

“If Solas did anything, Rook, we can resolve it. Just - tell me. You have to remember, we’re here for you. Whatever he told you-“

He never got to finish the sentence. And a second later, it seemed utterly irrelevant. Because Rook interrupted him. Voice wet, but even. Determined despite the nervous shaking of her hands.

“I love you.”

There were no thoughts. No sounds but the rapid heartbeat in his ears. For all Emmrich knew, the world had stopped turning.

Vaguely Emmrich realised his mouth was probably hanging open. He could not bring himself to care. He could only stare at Rook.

At Rook, who was staring back at him. With stray tears rolling down her face. Eyes wide. He had seen Rook angry, scared, and hurt. Never in tears. A distant part of Emmrich still wondered what had brought her to tears.

He tried to will himself back into the conversation, but this was staggering. His thoughts tumbled over each other, hard to grasp. Impossible to sort. Love. Wasn’t this what he had wanted for so long? But like this? With a future so unknown, so full of danger? And she was so young. What did she expect of him? A young woman of her calibre, looking for a dusty, old necromancer? Was this love? Or only infatuation? How could it be love? They barely knew each other - although the thought excited him more than he dared to put into words. A distant part of him wanted to reach out, hold her - maybe kiss her - and never let go again.  Frightening.  That’s what it was.

“Emmrich?” She reached for him but stopped shy of touching him. “As I said, I don’t expect… you don’t have to say anything. I… should I go?” Belatedly, he realised that enough time had gone by for Rook to stop crying. She looked most sombre.

“Rook,” his voice came out strangled, and her shoulder slumped. Never before had he seen her so timid. Defeated.

Emmrich decided he hated seeing her this way.

“This is,” he tried again, carefully. “A lot to take in. I’m sorry, but I have to ask. Are you quite certain?”

Rook laughed wetly, “Yeah, very. It’s okay; you don’t have to say anything back.” She was rubbing at her face. Maybe in embarrassment - there was a decidedly red hue in her cheeks now - or maybe to reel in her own emotions. It was hard to tell.

“No, that’s… I am,” Emmrich tried to find the right words. Any words. And failed. Shaking his head, he settled on “I’m sorry.”

Rook was quiet as she slipped out of the bed. “It’s okay. I’ll give you some room. I promised Harding I’d help her with something today.” She stopped, her arms crossed before her. “Maybe I’ll see you later?”

Emmrich could do nothing but nod and watch her leave.

###

Everything was upside down and a step to the left in the wake of Rook’s departure.

Manfred, who looked almost as confused as Emmrich felt, tried to fix the situation with tea. It had no taste, and again Emmrich found himself holding the half-empty cup long after it had gone cold. Eventually, habit took over. He dressed and went up to his balcony. The Fade looked grey, and Emmrich found no peace in watching it.

Rook’s confession played in his head, over and over. A part of him wanted to go and find her, confess for himself. See where it would take them. Another part tried to find a gentle way to let her down. Emmrich wanted to think it was the logical side of him - but a small voice in his mind kept insisting it was only cowardice that had kept him mute and rooted to the spot.

He was conflicted, his mind divided between elation and trepidation. Thoughts rapidly spiralling out of control.

It was Neve who pulled him out of it.

“Up here,” he answered her as she called to him. She was carrying a plate with what looked to be buttered toast and jam.

I must have missed breakfast.

She sat down, her expression calm and soft. Terribly knowing.

“I’m afraid that time got away from me.”

Neve nodded, her eyes fixed on his face. She smiled at him kindly.

“Word is, that is not the only thing that got away from you.”

“Ah,” Emmrich took the plate from her. “Words travel fast, then.”

Neve hummed. “If it’s any consolation, Rook didn’t say. Didn’t really have to.”

Without a doubt. Her tear-streaked face would haunt him for a long time to come. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought. Emmrich only nodded, and Neve sighed.

“I know it’s not my place,” Neve said slowly. Carefully. Like she was testing the water, seeing how he would react. Truthfully, Emmrich had dreaded talking about it. But after berating himself for a few hours, he felt keenly aware of his shortcomings. Whatever truth Neve could offer, it could not hurt worse than what he had already told himself.

“No, please. It seems I am in need of your insight.”

“Good!” Neve, clearly relieved, leaned eagerly forward. “Am I right in assuming Rook finally came clean?”

What? He must have misheard.

“Finally?” He asked, voice thin.

Neve smiled at him, an eyebrow raised. “Oh, Emmrich… Don’t tell me you’d never noticed.”

“Ah,” he sat the plate on the ground. “I fear I might not have been looking very hard. Or convinced myself I was not seeing the signs.”

“I may be going out on a limb here. But I never felt her advances were wholly disagreeable?”

“She can be very charming,” Emmrich allowed. “And insistent.”

Neve smiled, leaning back in her chair, and hummed, “Awfully sweet, at times.”

“Indeed.”

“But?”

Emmrich sighed. “There is nothing wrong with Rook.”

“But?” Neve reiterated.

“It comes at the most inopportune of times, I’m afraid.”

He turned towards the Fade, eyes on the endless stretch of pure void. A few wisps danced at the edge of the Lighthouse, swirling slowly through the air. A sight that usually brought joy to Emmrich. Not today.

“I see,” Neve muttered. She, too, watched the wisps for a moment before she continued. “Up until most recently, I would’ve agreed. You know, always on a case. Chasing this or that. But,” she shook her head, eyes on her hands now. “I don’t think we can afford to waste this kind of time. You never know…” She trailed off, and Emmrich knew what horrific event weighed most severely on her in that moment.

“Neve-“

“Don’t,” she interrupted sharply. The pain of losing Dock Town still heavy in her voice.

Emmrich sighed. He fidgeted with one of his many rings. An old golden band, worn down heavily by time and simple in design. On the inside, etched into the metal, were familiar words: Nexus aeternum. He knew the words by heart, as if they were burnt into his skin instead. His parent’s wedding vows. Eternal bonds.

His voice was quiet when he confessed what had been on his mind for way too long, “She is so young. So brilliant. Our lives are fundamentally different. What if-” He took a deep breath, his father’s wedding ring heavy on his finger. “What if it’s just ephemeral in nature?”

Neve hummed thoughtfully as if she was considering his words carefully. Emmrich’s stomach flipped nervously, and he did not dare to look at her, fearing what he might find in her expression. Would she dismiss his worries? Or concur? It was hard to tell which one he dreaded more.

“I can’t speak for Rook,” Neve finally said. “But she’s determined enough to lead a fight against ancient gods, blighted dragons, and thick-headed First Wardens. Varric chose her for a reason. You know, she is… certainly peculiar. Brash, defiant, assertive. Yet,” she pushed to her feet. “Also kind, surprisingly protective, and, well, steadfast. If she says she loves you, I believe she means it. If you trust her to lead us through this, why not trust that she knows her own feelings? Emmrich, it’s a risk. But some risks are well worth the reward.” He watched silently as she headed for the stairs. Just as she had reached the first step, she turned around and caught his eyes.

“Do you reject her because of the possibility of her failing you or because of entrenched insecurities of yours? Maybe something to think about.”

Already halfway down the stairs, she turned around one last time.

“Eat something while you do. And so you know, Rook and Harding returned half an hour ago.”

She smiled when Emmrich jumped to his feet, uncharacteristically impulsive, before he could stop himself.

###

Strange blue light from the giant aquarium illuminated her room, occasionally interrupted by the slow-moving shadows of strange fish swimming by. It was the only light source in the room. Emmrich had never been in her room before, and he stopped only a couple of steps into it to look around. A few old pieces of furniture lined the walls, littered with a wild assortment of little odds and ends. An old shaving mirror caught his eye for a second before he turned toward the couch in the middle of the room.

Rook sat with her back to him, head low and shoulders slumped. Emmrich knew she was aware of him; after all, she had answered when he had knocked. So he stepped quietly around the couch until he could see her face.

“Rook? I hope I do not interrupt anything?”

She looked tired but calm. “Of course not.”

“May I?” He gestured toward the space next to her, and Rook smiled.

“Sure.”

The couch was soft and comforting, but the cold leather chilled him through his clothes. She was dressed only in her thin Dalish clothes, her arms bare and, as always, barefoot.

She must be freezing.

“How are you doing?” He asked and realised the question seemed too big. So he added another one, something a bit easier to answer, “Did everything go well?”

“Yeah,” Rook nodded and leaned back, her head resting against the couch. “Harding’s looking into her new magic and that… voice.” It was easy to guess what she thought about mysterious voices in one's head. She grimaced and glanced at him. It was a ridiculous expression on her. And utterly adorable. Emmrich had to fight back a smile.

Keep it together , he admonished himself.

“We checked some intel. Nothing dangerous,” Rook elaborated a moment later.

“Good. I hope she can continue to make progress in uncovering the source of her magic,” Emmrich kept his voice light, pushing down on his emotions as best he could.

He had hoped seeing her would help him find the words to bridge what now lay between them. To soothe and possibly even mend both their heartaches. As well as to overcome his own ill-fated feelings.

You fool , he thought. Sitting next to her in the twilight darkness of her room, he felt the buzzing affection towards her in his stomach. Maybe stronger than he ever had. The urge to reach out was tingling in his fingertips.

Blue light danced across her skin, reflecting in her eyes. Her hair was open for once, flowing messily over her shoulders. She looked ethereal, and Emmrich had to will himself to tear his eyes away. There was a brush in Rook’s hands, he noticed, her fingers restlessly playing with it. She followed his eyes, and, after a moment, she gestured with the brush.

“Magic, uh? I don’t suppose there’s a spell to fix hair?”

The sudden change in topic caught Emmrich by surprise.

“Not that I am aware of,” he said.

“Pity,” Rook sighed. “Might as well cut it off, then.” She pulled a few strands of hair from the brush. Annoyance clear in the gesture as she shook out her hand.

“Why?” Emmrich wondered, and Rook snorted.

“It’s a mess, that’s why. And it’d take an awful lot of work to fix. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Oh. Her hair was in a state, he had to agree. But cutting it off? She loved her hair. Just a couple of weeks ago she had dragged him all over the market in search of hair oils. The day was burnt into his memory for all the right reasons: Rook’s delighted smiles, her carefree attitude, the way she had taken his hand to drag him from one stall to another…

Emmrich extended his hand, “Let me try.”

Rook’s eyes went wide, surprise written all over her face. A light blush spreading to her cheeks. It made something flutter in his stomach.

“Emmrich, you don’t have to.”

“I know,” his voice cracked a bit as he echoed what she had told him only last night. “But maybe I want to.”

She turned fully towards him, and Emmrich realised how close they were. He could see his own reflection in her eyes. A slow smile appeared on Rook’s face, and she handed him the brush.

“Well, okay then. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Brushing her hair was a slow process. She had not exaggerated; untangling the matted hair was tedious and slow. Rook had oiled her hair, probably in an effort to help the process. The smell of rosemary and lemons was heavy in the space between them. A scent he had become very familiar with. Emmrich lost himself in the repetitive motions. Her dark reddish hair was soft between his fingers as he slowly untangled the long curls. The simple task occupied his mind enough to keep his mind quiet.

It was Rook who broke the silence between them.

“Emmrich?” Rook whispered.

“Yes?”

Exhaling heavily, she continued. “I wanted to… I’m sorry for this morning. Not,” she added hastily when he froze, fingers tightening in her hair. “Not about what I said. I meant it. Every word. Only that I couldn’t… I guess, the way I said them. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with it. Or run off right after. I’m really sorry about that, by the way.”

Her shoulder was warm under his palm when he rested his hand there. Solid and strong as always. And tense.

Oh, Rook. Her honesty humbled him. And he could only feel ashamed in the face of her bravery.

Do something. Say something! His hands felt shaky, and his face was uncomfortably warm. He had been in two minds for too long. Now was the moment to take the plunge. To follow her example or…

Let her down gently. I just have to discourage her; it will pass. She is young.

“I meant it when I said we can just forget about it, tho,” Rook’s voice was thick with emotions. “Just… ignore it. If you prefer that. Go back to where we were before.”

“No,” he blurted, surprising them both. It was audible how quick Rook snapped her mouth shut. Suddenly, he could not bear the thought of Rook pulling away from him. Of not being with her; of not at least trying to see what may be. Emmrich went on before his anxiety could get the better of him.

“While I have to admit that you caught me unprepared,” he took a deep breath, his heart stammering in his chest. “It would be inaccurate to pretend your confession had been - undesirable.”

“And I,” his voice caught. “I would be lying if I said your feelings were not - are not - reciprocated.” She was faintly shaking, trembling under his hands, head held low in silence. Presumably in as much shock as Emmrich was himself.

In hindsight, Emmrich could not recall who moved first. He pushed against her shoulder, but she had already started to turn towards him. Her lovely amber eyes were wide, fixed on him. Full of intent.

“Emmrich,” her voice rough. “What are you saying?”

He took her smaller hands between his. Feeling the strength in them as she flexed her fingers.

“I worry,” he sighed, avoiding her question.

Rook hummed, “About what?”

“The uncertainty of our mission and the future, mainly.” He hesitated. It was the truth - only, not the full extent of it. Should he share his other, more personal worries? Was it fair to be transparent, or would it be kinder to spare her the facts that she could not change?

“Don’t hold out on me, please. What else?”

“It is quite apparent to me that we share decidedly different lives. And circumstances.”

Rook nodded slowly, “We sure do. Or did, until now. Doesn’t mean we can’t have something together in the future, tho. Does it?”

The future? Emmrich blinked at her, stunned. Was she implying… But no. It couldn’t be.

His thoughts must have shown on his face, because she laughed, “Don’t look so baffled! I can make plans. Happened before, on occasions.” She was teasing him, he knew.

“I think there’s more,” Rook continued, tone suddenly sober again. “I know I’m not, well, catchy. I don’t have fancy things or clothes, and I’m certainly not well educated. If that’s an issue, I understand. I’ve seen the ladies in Nevarra, and that’s not me.”

“Rook, no,” Emmrich could hardly believe his ears. Rook — gorgeous, clever Rook — it was scandalous to even entertain the thought she was not any of those things. “No. That thought has never crossed my mind. Not once!”

“Still,” he knew now he had to tell her - lest she think he was placating her. “There is a certain age gap that I have to consider.”

There - it was out in the open. Rook was blinking at him, a deep frown on her face - and snorted.

“Really?” She leaned back. “You think I’m too young for you?”

“I think I’m too old for you.”

“I think you’re silly,” Rook sighed. “But if that’s an issue you can’t get over, I understand. Just, why? I know I’m sometimes a bit immature with the jokes and stuff. I just never thought it was such a problem.”

She looked resigned, her shoulders hunched.

“No, Rook. It’s nothing of the sort. I… it’s very charming to be desired by a woman so many years younger than me. It’s-“ He broke off, looking for a way to make her see what was so clear to him. That it was not his heart that argued against them; it was only to her own benefit. But now, in front of Rook, all his careful reasoning felt flat. Artificial.

He was taking too long - he could see it in the way she shook her head, the unhappy turn of her lips. She would pull away from him and resent it for it. He let go of her hands.

Maybe that’s just what I deserve. Maybe it’s for the best.

“No,” Rook’s voice was hard as she grabbed his arm before he could pull away further. “You can reject me - but you cannot leave. Not like this, Emmrich. You can’t tell me you have feelings for me, pull away, and not even give me a reason. Yes, I’m young. But I’m not naive or inexperienced. You worry for the future? So do I. A lot, actually. I believe we can stop the gods and fix the veil. But I know I cannot promise you any of that.”

“Still,” she continued before he could interrupt. Calloused fingers found his jaw, gentle but persistent pressure to turn his head so their eyes met.

“What I can promise you,” she said. “Is that my feelings are as sincere as they are unchanging. And if you let me, I will prove it every day until you believe me.”

“Rook,” his voice came out strangled. His eyes burning, he blinked at her.

“Give me a chance? Us? It’s all I’m asking for.”

Sincerity was written all over her face. In all of his years, never had he met someone so indomitable. And never had anyone so fiercely fought for his affection. Emmrich was afraid if he tried to say something, he would burst into tears.

And so, maybe against his better judgement, but certainly not against his heart's desires, he nodded.

A brilliant smile spread over her face. She cupped his head with her hand, and for a moment he believed she would kiss him. Instead, she hugged him, tugging his face against her shoulder. Her nose was cold where it brushed against his ear, but her embrace was warm and breathtakingly tender.

Slowly, he brought his hands up, returning the gesture. He closed his eyes and, for once, let himself just feel the moment.

###

Back in his room, and hidden away from the world under his blankets, Emmrich sighed and relaxed against Rook. She had insisted on him staying off his back, no matter how many times Emmrich explained that his wound had already healed beyond such concerns.

An argument he could only lose, Emmrich knew. And hardly worth the effort, anyway. Especially when Rook started to brush her fingers through his hair and down his neck when she pushed her nose against the top of his head and inhaled deeply, like she was committing his scent to memory. His heart skipped another beat - by now an almost familiar feeling - and he knew he would surrender to her every wish. Rook hummed when he reached for her, his hand slipping beneath her many layered clothes. He traced lazy patterns along her ribs and over her back. Revelling in the realisation that he could now do such a thing.

“I suppose you want to take it slow,” Rook suddenly said, voice easy and content, just when Emmrich was at the brink of sleep.

“Well, I would prefer to deliberately explore the matter with you; yes. Court you the proper way.”

The way you deserve, he added silently.

Rook laughed quietly. “Okay,” she agreed.

“How do you know?” Emmrich wondered.

“It’s the kind of thing that’s just so you.” One hand curled over his neck. “It’s okay,” she added. “We take it easy.”

Tears burnt behind his eyes, his heart overflowing with affection and gratitude, and he pulled her closer. He kissed her throat, the soft skin over her clavicle. As he rested his nose there, collecting his emotions, he could feel her steady pulse.

Emmrich hummed, pleased. “Thank you, Darling.”

Only because he was so close to her, he noticed her taking a sudden, shuddering breath. For a moment he did not think anything of it. Then she took a second, quivering one. Followed by something that almost sounded like … a sob?

“Rook?” Alarmed, he tried to push away from her to get a good look at her face, but she only tightened her grip on him. Emmrich froze. “Darling?”

“Sorry, I”, she trailed off, her voice hoarse. “You stopped with - and I thought…” Rook sniffled and cleared her throat.

What is happening?

“Please. I don’t understand.”

Rook took a deep breath, held it, and slowly exhaled. She did it again, and he recognised it for what it was - self-soothing behaviour. Ever so carefully, Emmrich started to stroke her back. Slow movements in hope of calming her.

“It’s silly…”

“I assure you, whatever it is, you will find no judgement here. I can see it burdens you. Please, let me help.”

“I just - you haven’t called me that since, well, the wetlands. I thought you were,” she said, voice shy, her fingers nervously wringing his shirt. “That you were angry with me.”

“No,” Emmrich pulled away from her. He needed to see her face for this. “No, Rook. Never!” A few stray tears were on her face, and she was frowning heavily. Upset in a way he had never seen her before.

Oh, Rook…

Slowly, he reached up, wiping away her tears. “I would never do such a thing. If anything, I believed I had let you down.”

Immediately, she shook her head. Always ready to reassure and support, even when she was distressed herself.

“You could never, Emmrich. Accidents happen all the time; plans go south.” Goosebumps followed her fingers where she stroked his face. “It’ll never change how I feel about you.”

“Forgive me?”

She smiled, pulling him in for a slow kiss. “Already have, always will.”

He had imagined Rook to be passionate or wild. Instead, she was sweet and tranquil, unexpectedly compliant. Holding her, kissing her - it was new and exciting but also felt like coming home. Loving her - opening himself up to her - was a risk, he knew. For both of them.

But hopefully, as Neve had so aptly stated, a risk well worth the reward.